


How Not to Fall In Love with a Married Man

by Ferrero13



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, One-sided Spock/Nyota Uhura - Freeform, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrero13/pseuds/Ferrero13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A guide by Nyota Uhura.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 23/05/2015: Hover over names for origin and meaning.
> 
> 04/06/2015: I've opted to tag S/U under 'additional tags' as I have been informed that the S/U community is more or less drowning in Spirk. I looked up the S/U tag myself and it turns out that approximately 1 in 5 S/U stories are also tagged K/S, which is a staggering statistic. Can we make tagging non-central S/U under 'additional tags' a thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 04/06/2015: Minor edits to avoid discontinuity because I'm particular like that and these things bother the hell out of me.

The first time Nyota met Jim, he knocked her over, sending her PADD sliding across the shining marble floor of Starfleet Academy. She awarded mental points in his favour when he picked up her PADD and extended a hand to help her up, but quickly rescinded them when he asked if he could buy her a cup of coffee as an apology. Big blue eyes, insouciant hair, and a charming, confident grin on his lips, he loudly introduced himself as You-wouldn’t-be-able-to-pronounce-my-last-name Jim, and gestured to her as if she were somehow obliged to give up her name in return.

“Uhura,” she said curtly, once it became clear that, no matter how much of a hurry he had been earlier, Jim wouldn’t leave her alone till he had flirted his fill.

“Is your last name hard to pronounce too?” he asked, flashing a smile full of flawlessly white teeth and handing her PADD over.

“Uhura _is_ my last name,” she said, tempted to roll her eyes. If he so much as suggested if she would like to share his last name, she would leave, courtesy be damned.

“No first name?”

Nyota raised an eyebrow, slotting her PADD back into her bag. “Are you offering me yours?”

He crossed his hands behind his back in a way that pulled his cadet uniform tautly over his shoulders and hinted at a physique that was certainly not lacking in definition. Nyota scoffed inwardly at his amateurish show of masculinity. “I don’t think that you would want it,” Jim chuckled, and Nyota found it grating. “I am sorry to have knocked into you. I will compensate you at a later time with that coffee I promised. See you around?”

She watched coolly as he tripped over his feet while running in the direction of the faculty rooms, waving back at her enthusiastically. Taking a moment to gather her composure, Nyota, in an uncharacteristically hostile mood, hoped that You-wouldn’t-be-able-to-pronounce-my-last-name Jim would be late for whatever appointment he had been heading to, and that his tardiness would incur heavy penalties.

\---

The first time Nyota met Spock, she was sitting in the front row of a lecture hall during the first lecture of her second semester. He introduced himself as Commander “You-will-have-some-difficulty-pronouncing-my-family-name-even-if-you-have-completed-Level-7-Golic-Vulcan” Spock—Nyota had an unwelcomed flashback of when You-wouldn’t-be-able-to-pronounce-my-last-name Jim had run into her in the previous semester—and promptly launched into his lecture on xenolinguistics in relation to Golic Vulcan.

She admired the easy way he commanded the attention of every cadet in the room, and it was easily the quietest lecture that Nyota had ever had the pleasure of attending. His diction was utilitarian, and his explanations extremely precise, but he had what appeared to be a preternatural feel for relating to human culture and languages. Any hesitation that she may have had with regards to studying a subject as emotionally charged as linguistics under a Vulcan instructor was banished within the first five absorbing minutes of his lecture.

He demonstrated both a superb understanding of the nuances of Standard and a keen awareness of the linguistic differences between Standard and Golic Vulcan, raising appropriate examples of common misconceptions and mistakes made by Standard-speakers when learning Golic Vulcan. To say that Nyota was impressed would have been a gross understatement.

It was as Nyota was becoming fully engrossed in the lecture when No-last-name Jim burst through the doors of the lecture hall, face slightly flushed, and proceeded to take the only available seat left—the one to Nyota’s right. Commander Spock paused to give the latecomer a perfunctory glace before continuing his lecture as if he was never interrupted.

To Jim’s credit, he had the decency to look apologetic as he spread out his materials methodically, making sure not to make too much noise, and hunkered down to take notes immediately. The room lapsed into silence once more, save for Commander Spock’s instructive baritone.

A five-minute break was called an hour into the lecture. Jim leapt up from his seat and jogged the few steps toward Commander Spock. From where Nyota was seated, she could not hear a word of their rapid-fire exchange, but Jim’s wild gesticulations, his furrowed brows, and Commander Spock’s calm but firm expression indicated that he was in a spot of trouble.

Jim returned to his seat all too soon. His eyes fell over Nyota, and she gave in to the urge to roll her eyes when his expression instantly morphed from vexed to pleasantly surprised in a split second—No-last-name Jim, actor extraordinaire. “Hello, Lerato! It’s a pleasure to see you here. How about we go for that coffee I promised you after this?”

“No thanks.”

“Nala?” he guessed again as he shuffled his notes. Nyota noticed that there was absolutely nothing on languages on the papers—who even used _paper_ these days?—but there were plenty of notes on how Commander Spock carried himself and delivered his lecture. She was beginning to dislike Jim even more. “You seem like a successful woman.”

“Thanks, but wrong again.”

“Furaha?”

“Points for research, but you’re still not getting any.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“I believe you,” Nyota said dryly, and noted with some satisfaction that Jim looked slightly perplexed.

Commander Spock called for attention just as Jim was about to speak again, and Nyota was grateful for his timing.

\---

Jim was late again the next week, and the next, and the next, and the next. It had become something of a routine for Jim to arrive anywhere between five and thirty minutes late, such that Commander Spock now ignored him completely when he entered the room. To Nyota’s displeasure, it seemed as if the entire class was conspiring to have Jim sit next to her for the rest of the semester by deliberately avoiding the seat to her right.

Nyota was, however, reluctantly pleased to note that Jim was an excellent desk mate. His stationery was always confined to the tiny desk area marked out for each seat, and he refrained from shaking his legs or using his PADD during the lecture. He, like Nyota, seemed to have burning questions for Commander Spock after every lecture (although Nyota guessed that the nature of his questions was in no way related to linguistics, given the type of notes he took), but always allowed other cadets to approach Commander Spock for clarifications before himself. She wondered if it took every ounce of self-control to be on his best behaviour in front of her even though, since this was the last lecture of the day, he was probably late for a meeting with his friends at a pub or wherever boys went to pick up girls.

Regardless of his chivalry, Nyota’s estimation of him always fell when he never failed to ask about coffee. She had seen him around campus a couple of times, and he was always with a different girl. She would be a fool to fall for that sort of cheap country charm. All those rumours about Jim working his way through the alien rainbow as efficiently as Klingons put away alcohol had to come from somewhere.

If pressed Nyota would admit that her opinions on romance were vastly different from her opinions on academics and career. Romance was not something to pursue and aspire toward. It was an unpredictable venture that hinged upon the feelings of two (or more—she did not judge) individuals, and even if she were to be romantically successful it would be hard to feel the same degree of pride than if she had mastered Golic Vulcan and Klingon simultaneously. Romance was something to participate in if the conditions were right—Nyota had no shortage of opportunities—but her career and her academic thirst would wither if she did not have the ambition to back up her knowledge.

She supposed that some would consider her ideal romantic entanglement utilitarian and completely unromantic—Gaila already did, but she was Orion and subjected Nyota to the sight of a different naked individual whenever she returned to their dorm too early, so that was slightly hypocritical of her. Nyota readily admitted to herself that she looked for contentment and stability, not excitement, in a relationship, so someone with a personality as explosive as Jim’s was definitely out of the question.

Even if the coffee sounded more tempting as finals approached.

\---

Nyota participated in a summer trip to Riverside Shipyard in Iowa, where she indulged in an alphabet soup of cocktails on their final night of the visit. Her headache had barely abated when the shuttle to the Academy lifted off, but she was definitely sober enough to see Kirk, dressed against regulations in civilian attire, winking at her even as he took a seat beside a man with the heaviest scowl and darkest eyebags that Nyota had ever seen.

She tended to deliberately ignore the last few hours of the trip, starting from the first Cardassian Sunrise.

\---

Nyota opted to take Level 2 Vulcan in her second year. Her decision was in no way affected by the prospect of being taught by Commander Spock again.

She saw Jim a few more times on campus. He showed up for one or two Level 2 Vulcan lectures, but the bulk of her Jim-sightings were in the cafeteria. That in itself was of no interest to her, except that he always had his meals with Commander Spock—and occasionally the man she’d seen on the shuttle from Iowa who appeared perpetually foul-tempered—whenever he showed up. It ruffled her feathers that he managed to find ways to speak with the instructor outside of consultation windows when Nyota had to book consultation slots at least one week in advance to secure a miserable 15-minute conversation, and, going by his civilian attire, he wasn’t even a cadet anymore.

A part of her wondered if he had been expelled, or if he had dropped out due to poor grades.

“What’s wrong?” Gaila asked as Nyota set her tray down on the table with perhaps just a little too much force.

“No-last-name Jim, that’s what,” Nyota answered through her teeth.

“Oh, you know Jimmy?”

“Jimmy?” Nyota asked incredulously, eyebrows shooting up. “No, wait, don’t say a word. I don’t need to know if you’ve brought him to our room.”

Gaila laughed deeply in the way that only someone who had been to hell and back could. The corners of her eyes crinkled as her mouth split into a wide grin, and while she was rather affronted at being laughed at, Nyota was wont to allow Gaila the pleasures of being a free from the shackles of sexual slavery that many of her species were still bound by.

“What’s so funny?”

“Trust me,” Gaila smiled, placing a firm hand on Nyota’s shoulder, “I am not sleeping with Jimmy.”

“Comforting,” Nyota muttered between mouthfuls of a badly baked potato.

“But he has been to our room.”

“Gaila.”

“We didn’t do anything, cross my heart,” Gaila assured her, but the smile on her face was all too reminiscent of Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire cat.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s true. We did some programming but nothing happened.”

“I suppose he didn’t reprogram you to put in a good word for him,” Nyota threw back sarcastically.

“He never mentioned you,” Gaila shrugged. “I don’t think he’s desperate for you to like him if he didn’t even tell me that he knew my roommate.”

“Oh you haven’t seen how persistent he was last semester with his offers of coffee.”

Gaila burst into peals of laughter again. “Nyota, you’re reading too much into things. He’s not looking for a relationship.”

“No, he’s looking to add another notch to his bedpost,” Nyota said dismissively. She waited for a beat or two for their banter to resume, but, when it did not, she glanced up to find that Gaila’s expression had lost its playfulness.

“Nyota, Jimmy isn't like that. I know that he rubs some people the wrong way, but he’s a good guy. I’ve never pegged you as the type that listens to rumours.”

Nyota bit her lip. Gaila had raised a good point. It was extremely unlike her to base her opinion of anybody on hearsay, and it made her uncomfortable to know that she did not realise this herself but had to have someone point it out for her. It was unsettling. “Let’s not talk about Jim,” she finally said, throat stuck and appetite suddenly lost. “I heard that you’re assisting with the reprogramming of the Kobayashi Maru?”

Gaila perked up at the olive branch, and, as she listened to her friend ramble about codes, Nyota tried to forget that she was becoming the sort of person she disliked.

She also tried not to think about the reason why she so readily believed the unsavoury rumours about Jim.

\---

Gaila invited Jim to their room frequently after their conversation in the cafeteria, pinning Nyota with her eyes whenever she was also present as if to make a point.

Under Nyota’s discreet scrutiny from the corner of her eyes, they sat cross-legged on Gaila’s bed with their heads bent over a frankly ridiculous number of PADDs. To Nyota, their conversation sounded like an exotic language, a blend of Standard and numbers and abbreviations spoken far too quickly to be without familiarity. More often than not, Jim made what sounded like a suggestion, which was then quickly broken down and analysed by Gaila, and then the two of them continued to prattle on in their odd Standard-coding language hybrid until somebody exclaimed loudly and triumphantly while proudly showing off one of their many PADDs to the other.

Nyota had to admit that she was impressed by how well Jim was keeping up with Gaila, who was attending the Academy on a coding scholarship. Once or twice, Jim made reference to an unnamed “he” with an expression on his face that Nyota would describe as sappy. She brushed it off as a professional crush, since “he” was always accompanied with a quote that demonstrated some sort of apparently brilliant insight, if Gaila’s reactions were anything to go by.

The first time Jim stayed for dinner, Nyota learnt that he was on a strictly vegetarian diet. Nyota rationalised that he must be consuming protein powder to replace meat, given that his musculature could hardly be achieved by feeding on starch and cellulose (the latter of which the human body couldn’t even digest, let alone utilise). Or maybe he just ate a lot of tofu.

Whatever the case was, Nyota also learnt that Jim was an excellent cook, and could put together an absurdly appetising three-course meal with only leftovers and a head of cabbage. After her first bite, Gaila tried to bribe Jim into stay for dinner more often, but he turned her down, citing a need to have frequent and regular meals with his family. Nyota must have imagined the slight reddening of his cheeks, because Jim had said it with such pride that it was hard to believe that he was embarrassed by his family. Gaila only cooed, pinched Jim’s cheeks, and babbled something that sounded like, “Aw, do you miss him? Better yet, does he miss you? I bet he does, and I bet his pointy ears perk up when you’re around. You two are so adorable!”

“I didn’t know that you own a pet,” Nyota said suddenly, trying to break into their conversation so as not to feel like too much of an unwanted guest in her own dorm.

Jim gave her a bright smile, his cheeks bright red from Gaila’s pinching. “I don’t. You should never listen to what Gaila has to say; she likes to tease.”

Gaila rolled her eyes. “Jimmy, there is nothing more adorable than the fact that the two of you have such a strong bond even though you’re from completely different species. Stop denying it.”

“I’m not,” Jim grinned. “I just…must you describe it like that?”

“If he’s not a pet, then what is he?” Nyota asked.

“He’s family,” Jim said, and the happiness in his voice was so palpable, his smile so genuinely blissful, that Nyota feared for a second that he might actually start glowing.

Before Jim’s smile could stretch any wider until it wrapped around his head, Gaila slapped his shoulder, proclaiming loudly, “Okay, that’s enough diabetes for today. Food’s growing cold!”

After Jim left, Gaila shot Nyota the smuggest smile she had ever seen. “See? He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

Nyota prided herself in being a rational person and therefore had no compunctions admitting that she may have been hasty in her judgement of No-last-name Jim. However, it did not mean that she was willing to give in to Gaila so easily, so she sniffed, “Human nature is capricious.”

\---

In the second semester of Nyota’s second year, she elected to study Level 3 Vulcan. If Commander Spock happened to be the lecturer for that class, it was a complete coincidence.

Jim showed up a few times in the semester—late as usual—and their conversations during breaks were now considerably less stilted than they had been in the previous two semesters. When Nyota failed to take him up on the coffee offer for what must be the hundredth, he got her usual order from Gaila and bought a cup from the Academy coffee shop. As he set it down in front of her during the lecture, he declared with more pomp and circumstance than was warranted by the situation, “My debts are cleared.”

Nyota huffed, lips quirking upwards, “Don’t think that this makes up for interrupting Commander Spock’s lectures all the time. Some of us are actually here to learn, you know.”

“What can I say? I already know all this stuff.”

She shot him a smile that was just on the side of patronising. “Then why are you here?”

“Observation,” Jim whispered, as if it were some sort of secret.

Before Nyota could ask him to elaborate, it was precisely 1600 hours and the lecture had started. She glanced at Jim, who had settled in beside her, and he murmured, “You’ll see next week.”

\---

There was a row of instructors in their charcoal uniforms sitting at the back of the lecture hall when Nyota arrived for her Level 3 Vulcan lecture the next week. She took her usual seat in the front and laid out her materials neatly, leaving her bag on the seat next to hers to save Jim a seat (he had strongly implied that he would be attending this week’s lecture, after all). The instructors were talking quietly among themselves in a way that did not seem to indicate that Commander Spock was in trouble, so Nyota pinned their presence down to a routine evaluation.

It was only when 1600 hours came and went with Commander Spock remaining seated to the side of the room that Nyota guessed that nothing about this lecture would be routine. Cadets erupted into hushed whispers as five minutes passed without a single word from any of the instructors, some of whom were checking their watches and PADDs as if they too had expected something to happen.

All of a sudden, the doors were flung open and No-last-name Jim rushed into the room. Nyota picked her bag off the seat next to her, giving Jim her best deadpan expression, but he seemed to be preoccupied with speaking to the instructors in the back row. After some flustered talking—Jim’s face cycled through a range of emotions that drained the blood from his face and sent it rushing back up—one of the instructors gestured to the front of the lecture hall.

Jim snapped a salute that was cleaner than Nyota would have expected, and very nearly tumbled down the stairs in his haste to get down. Nyota waited patiently for Jim to take the seat beside her, but was startled to realise that he was heading for the podium instead. She watched as he set up the A/V equipment without difficulty, swiftly bringing up a set of slides that Nyota recognised, having downloaded them for this lecture.

The murmuring in the room had risen to a loud buzz by the time Jim finally looked up, boyish smile fixed on his face, and addressed his audience, “I am Lieutenant James T., but you can call me Jim. As you’ve probably already guessed, I’m standing in for Commander Spock today for Level 3 Vulcan. Long story short, this is an evaluation of my suitability as an instructor, so I hope you will cooperate with me, even if it’s just for a couple of hours today.” Jim’s eyes were bright and hopeful as he looked across the room, and Nyota found herself wondering if Jim even knew enough Vulcan to be teaching such an advanced course.

He seemed to be satisfied with a mixed response of muttered agreements and tiny head nods, for, characteristic of Commander Spock, he dived straight into the syllabus immediately following.

She hadn’t known that he had actually finished the Academy, let alone graduated with enough honours to be promoted to the rank of lieutenant. They needed to have a serious talk about keeping information from friends after the lecture was over.

For all that Nyota had assumed that Jim had attended Commander Spock’s lectures to ogle at the Vulcan, it turned out that he’d been observing Commander Spock’s mannerisms instead of his posterior. His tone, like Commander Spock’s, was brisk but coupled with a little human emotiveness, and while his words were chosen with apparent care so as to be academically neutral, he interjected with anecdotes often enough to remind the class that it was Jim, not Commander Spock, that was speaking.

Jim breezed through the lecture seemingly effortlessly. He paced a bit as he talked, but kept his hands locked behind him when he wasn’t using them to effusively illustrate his point instead of swinging them with his strides. Nyota suspected that he was itching to make his lecture livelier, but she also knew that he was capable of sitting in the same position for hours on end—Gaila once pulled a very quiet all-nighter with Jim—so she could not say for certain.

And then there was his pronunciation—it sounded completely native.

He must have spent at least some of his formative years among Vulcans to have achieved that level of fluency and control. Her eyes slid over to Commander Spock, who was watching Jim impassively, and if it took some effort on her part to look away, it certainly was not because of how his eyes were smouldering with intensity in a way that sent shivers down Nyota’s spine.

Their usual 5-minute break was reduced to three minutes due to Jim’s tardiness.

Nyota took the opportunity to stride up to the podium to give Jim an expression that read ‘Explanation, NOW’. Jim held up his hands as if in surrender, lips pulling into a chastened smile.

“I didn’t think it was important, Amara.”

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me that I should’ve been showing you the appropriate respect for someone of your rank when I kept shitting on you last semester,” Nyota said dryly.

Jim scratched the back of his head, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t like to brag.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Nyota snorted. “Course of study?”

“Command and Science.”

 _God, what an overachiever._ Nyota eyed Jim, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Yet you’re teaching a class on Golic Vulcan.”

“Well, it was either this or Tactics 101—no other courses were available for relief teaching, and since Spock is ahead of the syllabus, you guys will be fine even if I screw up. Besides, Level 3 Vulcan is more fun.”

“Did you learn Vulcan to get into someone’s pants?”

Jim looked scandalised. “I’m offended! Why, Mbali, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were implying that I sleep around!”

“Jim.”

“Fine, fine, Lakeisha. I grew up on Vulcan, so my education was conducted primarily in the Golic language. It was a pain to learn at first, but it helps to be surrounded by Vulcans. Did you know that, for all their logic and purported adherence to IDIC, Vulcans are actually very elitist? They wouldn’t deign to speak to me in Standard unless I demonstrated that my Golic was a complete mess.”

“You’re telling me that you actually grew up and survived childhood in a society of _Vulcans_ , of all species.” Nyota shook her head disbelievingly. “You must have been a nightmare for the school.”

“Heh,” Jim chuckled. “Tell me about it. You should’ve seen the disciplinary board they set up for the sole purpose of deciding what to do with me after I punched Stonn. I still can’t believe that half of the High Council was on it. You’d think that no Vulcan child has ever acted out in the entire history of the planet with the way they overreacted.”

“You did _not_ punch a Vulcan.” Nyota chose to focus on the only part of Jim’s impassioned rant that wouldn’t force her to take Jim’s side of the argument.

“Don’t worry, Spock stopped me before I could get myself pummelled.”

“I wasn’t worried about _you_.”

“Ouch, Lesedi, ouch,” Jim said, clutching his chest dramatically.

It was then that Nyota’s brain fully registered what Jim had said. “Hang on a moment. You knew Commander Spock on Vulcan?”

“We met as children,” Jim responded offhandedly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but an alarm from Jim’s PADD interrupted them, so Jim shooed Nyota back to her seat to continue serenading the room with his roguish charm and perfect Golic. Somehow, Nyota had a feeling that Gaila had been deliberately withholding this little titbit from her.

Jim’s lecture ended uneventfully. The instructors filed out neatly in a stream of grey the moment the class was dismissed. Nyota had intended to speak with Jim, but stopped in her tracks when Commander Spock quickly rose from his seat. As the commander walked closer, Nyota could hear them conversing in low murmurs, and she observed that Jim paused from gathering his materials to give the commander a tired-looking but otherwise happy smile, to which Commander Spock responded with a curt nod. She was startled to realise that the little glimpse of humanity in Commander Spock’s wordless response to Jim did not diminish the appeal of the Vulcan to her—she had always thought that part of it stemmed from his alien-ness—but increased it.

Commander Spock navigated around Jim’s movements with ease. He passed Jim a PADD that was out of his reach and powered down the projector when it became apparent that Jim was too busy balancing his materials and trying to stuff them into his bag to be of any use in that respect. The look that Jim gave Commander Spock was full of affection. They left the room holding a quiet conversation under their breaths, and Jim gave Nyota a jaunty wave of his hand before they disappeared around the doorway.

Nyota shook her head to clear her mind. When she looked up, she realised that she was the last person in the room. Today had been an eye-opener in more ways than one. She was envious of both Jim’s academic achievements and his closeness with Commander Spock, and wondered if Jim would assist her in her quest to garner the Vulcan’s favour if she asked.

After all, it couldn’t be that hard to 'accidentally' arrange a meet-up between friends, could it? Nyota was certain that she had enough in common with Commander Spock, emotionally repressed Vulcan or not, to be capable of sustaining a gripping conversation about Golic syntax, if nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three is not a crowd. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually planned for this story to be no more than 10,000 words long with three chapters corresponding to the three definitions of t'hy'la (friend, brother, lover), but it got out of hand and now has the makings of a 30,000 word story that will tentatively span across STXI and likely dabble a little into ST:ID. I don't yet know if this is a good thing.
> 
> 05/06/2015: Minor edits. Expect more edits.

In the first semester of Nyota’s third year, she decided to take Level 4 Vulcan and stopped trying to convince herself that Commander Spock was not among her considerations when she made this choice. It was during the third lecture of the semester, with Jim acting as a teaching assistant (Nyota could still barely believe _that_ ), that Nyota worked up the courage to ask Jim to set up a meeting between her and the commander.

“Jim,” Nyota said after discreetly pulling Jim aside and away from Commander Spock’s Vulcan ears.

Jim just looked mildly amused. “Hey, Imani. What can I do for you today? Are you finally ready to take me up on the coffee I promised?”

Nyota snorted ungracefully. “Yeah, no. Thanks, but no thanks. Do you think the commander would be opposed to having lunch with me?”

Jim’s expression changed rapidly from jocular friendliness into something strange that Nyota couldn’t quite put her finger on. “You are aware that he’s bonded, right?”

She had, in fact, suspected as much. In her embarrassingly extensive research on Vulcan mating rituals, she had come across preliminary bonds that were initiated between Vulcan children. The paper had described them as less than a marriage, more than a betrothal, but she was also aware that they could be broken without much consequence. It was her hope that the commander would be willing to severe his preliminary bond in favour of a romantic relationship with her (but only if he was interested to begin with). Instead of the litany of thoughts racing through her mind, she gave a white lie, “Jim, I just want to pick his brains.”

He seemed to relax at that, and the smile returned to his face. She admired that he was looking out for Commander Spock but, surely, as a human Jim should be more inclined to favour Nyota over a less emotive Vulcan as a significant other for his friend. Furthermore, she believed that Commander Spock was old enough to make his own decisions. “Well, okay. We’re having lunch tomorrow at 1200 hours at the cafeteria. You’re welcome to join us.”

Nyota felt at once grateful and resentful. With the way Jim seemed to flirt with anything on legs, one would think that he would be the first to spot romantic intentions a mile off. Clearly, Nyota wasn’t obvious enough if Jim was going to be around as a third wheel. Regardless of Jim’s lack of tact, it was still a step in the right direction. “Thank you,” she said instead, and gave him a smile that was just a little more friendly than usual.

“You’re welcome, Layla.” Jim beamed back at her, and bounded back to Commander Spock to help ready the lecture hall for the next class. Nyota left the room shaking her head, mentally composing a list of intelligent questions for her first tentative foray into interspecies romance. It would not do to appear unprepared, given the excuse that she’d offered Jim, and the fact that a potential romantic entanglement with a certain Vulcan Commander was at stake.

\---

Nyota spotted Jim and Commander Spock easily—they were one of the few instructors seated amongst a sea of red cadets. She tugged the hem of her uniform jacket down, attempting self-consciously to straighten out any creases, and then making her way slowly toward their table in what she hoped was a confident yet respectful gait. Jim saw her coming first.

“Over here!” Jim called out, waving his hand as if she needed more visual cues to guide her to the obnoxious blond. She refrained from rolling her eyes, instead sliding gracefully into the booth, seating herself opposite the instructors.

“Commander, Jim,” she greeted.

Jim pouted, “Aren’t you going to address me by my rank too?”

“Lieutenant,” Nyota deadpanned.

He stared at her, and then shook himself out of his reverie. “Let’s stick with Jim.”

“I thought so,” she said. Her PADD shifted in her hands, and she was reminded of why she was here sharing a booth with Jim and her Vulcan professor.

Jim apparently had the same realisation, for he clapped his hands together once and declared, “So. No-first-name Uhura, Commander Spock. Spock, Cadet Uhura. She has questions for you.”

Nyota watched with fascination as Commander Spock raised a severe eyebrow at Jim, saying, “It is my understanding that Cadet Uhura does, in fact, possess a given name. According to the class list—”

“No! No, stop right there!” Jim exclaimed, shoving his hands at the commander’s mouth in what Nyota deemed either an incredibly brave or incredibly foolish move. Possibly both. Then he turned to her and winked. “It’s not fun unless I guess it.”

Nyota pinned him with unamused eyes.

The commander gave Jim a look that Nyota could not interpret, but which Jim apparently could, because he took his hands off Commander Spock’s face sheepishly and said, “Sorry. Right. Hands to myself.”

Then some silent conversation seemed to transpire between Jim and the commander, during which the commander’s eyebrow twitched while the rest of his face remained unchanged. Jim’s face, however, exhibited a fascinating breadth of emotional responses. Nyota envied their intimacy, but was nevertheless resigned to the fact that Jim would probably understand Commander Spock better than her for at least a few more years even if things went her way—they had the benefit of a shared childhood, after all.

She was certain that Jim did not intend for her to feel so left out, and while watching them proved unexpectedly entertaining, she wanted to be included in the fold. She wanted to learn to discern the minute pull of muscles under Spock’s alien skin, put emotions to those subtle expressions, and touch him as freely as Jim was able to with impunity. Their silent back and forth came to an end when Jim caught her looking at them awkwardly from the corner of his eyes and instantly tried to bring the conversation back to the whole point of the meeting.

“As I was saying,” Jim started, fixing the commander with an unreadable look, “Eshe—,” Jim paused as the commander opened his mouth as if to speak, but ignored him and bulldozed ahead, “ _Eshe_ wanted to ask you some questions about linguistics, so I invited her to join us.”

Nyota took this as her cue to start speaking. “I’m sorry to intrude upon your time outside of consultation.”

Commander Spock observed her quietly. “It is my experience that Jim often acts brashly and irrationally. However, as you are one of the most intelligent students among my classes, I believe that he has, for once, acted in my interests. I am certain that our conversation will prove rewarding for all of us, Jim included.”

She was beginning to notice that Jim and the commander seemed to enjoy including each other in everything that they did, and wondered if, when Spock married, Jim would insist on being in the same room as his friend when the marriage was consummated. Nyota would do a lot to ensure her partner’s happiness, but she drew the line there. Of course, this was all assuming that Commander Spock would eventually take a romantic interest in her, so she was clearly getting ahead of herself.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” Nyota said instead.

“Thanks are not necessary. You may proceed,” Spock replied, his voice level and notably alien in its lack of inflection.

She swallowed, turned on her PADD with a sharp movement, and read the first question off the list that she had slaved over the entire of the previous night. (Gaila had not been happy with her keeping the lights on, but stopped complaining once Nyota reminded her of how often she and Jim had stayed up twittering in code until they collapsed with exhaustion just before daybreak.)

\---

As lunch drew to a close, Nyota wondered how the Q&A session with the commander ended up in a three-way conversation with Jim spouting profanities in different languages, her trying to identify them by cadence and phonemes alone, and Spock making what probably passed for disapproving faces on Vulcan at the two of them. (Jim had kindly informed her that Commander Spock’s non-expressions were each a thousand-word essay.) It was utterly undignified to be trading hot-headed non-sequiturs with Jim in increasingly throat-wrecking languages. However, Nyota supposed that, sooner or later, Spock would have to learn this about her if she kept hanging around Jim. It would not do to be someone else other than herself around a prospective partner.

She was grateful that Commander Spock had patiently and attentively answered her questions even as Jim did his best to distract him by practically draping his emotional human self all over the poor Vulcan. Her pointed glares had done nothing to stop him. Perhaps, if the commander managed to focus on her despite Jim’s exasperated attempts to inject himself into their discussion, there was some hope for her after all.

The conversation promptly derailed when Jim made a loud exclamation in Klingon which Nyota recognised and reprimanded him for, following which he continued with ever more colourful and inappropriate expressions in almost every alien language Nyota had ever heard of (and some she hadn’t). Nyota was not one to back down from linguistic challenges, and it certainly did not help that she allowed herself to be goaded by Jim’s unnecessarily delighted grin.

How she wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

The alarm of Spock’s PADD startled them out of their xenolinguistic one-upmanship. The commander finally deigned to interrupt their ‘fascinating exchange of knowledge’, citing a need to proceed to their next classes. Jim turned his head toward Spock so quickly that Nyota feared he might have suffered from whiplash, tilting his head and furrowing his brows, before looking back at Nyota, “It seems that this is all that we have time for today. I’ll see you in class next week?”

Nyota sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Great!” Jim beamed. He then got off his seat and snatched their trays to deposit them at the tray return station. Jogging back to them, he said, “No need to thank me.”

“I assure you that I didn’t intend to.”

When Spock stood up, Nyota noticed that Jim seemed to automatically migrate to the Vulcan’s side. “It was fun, by the way. You’re welcome to join us again any time. Right, Spock?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, we’d best get going otherwise Spock will be only five minutes early instead of ten, and apparently that’s bad for his state of mind. Until next week!” Jim threw back a wave as an afterthought, as he and Spock marched through a crowd of cadets that parted like a literal red sea to let them pass.

Nyota shook her head, smiling to herself. Perhaps Jim wasn’t as oblivious as she’d initially thought.

\---

She joined them for lunch once or twice weekly for the rest of the semester, and by the end of it felt comfortable calling Spock her friend. She couldn’t say the same for the grumbling man—a cadet—that joined them infrequently and had a tendency to stab Jim with hypos without the slightest provocation; she was not in the habit of befriending those who took apparently sadistic joy in causing her friend-definitely-without-benefits-even-over-her-dead-body discomfort.

While she couldn’t read Spock as well as Jim could, she hoped to at least be able to tell that Spock was even _emoting_ by the time she graduated. The way Jim and Spock communicated without words surely couldn’t be normal—there had to be some sort of telepathy involved. Nyota made a mental note to ask Jim for his ESP ratings. Perhaps time on Vulcan had changed something fundamental about his physiology.

\---

Level 5 Vulcan was only a logical progression from Level 4 Vulcan, given that Nyota had already invested two years of study in the language and consistently emerged, according to Spock, as his most promising student. It was an early morning class for a change. In addition to Level 5 Vulcan, Commander Spock also lectured one of Nyota’s core Xenolinguistics modules, which pleased Nyota for reasons that were not entirely academic.

Trying to wring information about Spock from Jim was at once like pulling teeth from a Gorn and acquiring a mosquito bite (or five hundred) at home in the African plains (which were now far less like plains than they were half a millennia ago—however, nothing seemed to have changed on the mosquito population front). There were times when Jim’s lips were sealed as if the grumpy cadet whom Jim liked for some reason had stitched them together using primitive 20th century surgical threads. Nevertheless, it was often the case that Jim was more than willing to wax lyrical about Spock’s many and varied interests and abilities without prompting.

It was through one of these verbal vomiting sessions that Nyota learnt about Spock’s preference for Vulcan spice tea.

With this piece of information in mind, Nyota arrived early for lecture with a cup of Vulcan spice tea. She left it on the podium with a note printed onto one of two napkins in her neatest handwriting that informed Spock that the tea was not, in fact, a foolish attempt at littering by the lecturer that instructed the previous class.

Spock walked into the lecture hall, expression as impassive as ever, after the first few early birds had stumbled in bleary-eyed and sprawled their tired bodies all over their desks. He raised an eyebrow at her after noticing the cup with a non-expression only Jim could decipher. Regardless, Nyota gave herself a pat on her back to congratulate herself on accomplishing her good-deed-of-the-day.

When the lecture ended, Nyota put on a show of digging through her bag until she and Spock were the only ones left in the room.

“Cadet Uhura.” Spock’s voice rang out, seeming to echo in the empty room.

“Nyota, please,” she said, finally looking up from her bag, smiling. “We’re alone.”

“Cadet,” Spock repeated. “It is my duty to inform you that I will not be receptive to further romantic advances.”

She felt the smile fall off her face. She did not know how he knew, but she’d learnt enough about him to know that humans rarely noticed the things that Spock did. “Spock, I know that it’s inappropriate, but I’ve only got little over a year before I graduate. We are good as friends—I think we could be good together if you’d give us a chance.”

Spock’s posture stiffened further, his voice becoming harder than Nyota had ever heard or thought possible. “It is not a matter of our professional relationship, Cadet Uhura. I am, as you are likely aware, already bonded. What you seek will dishonour the bond and my bondmate. However, I regard you as an esteemed friend; be assured that I will not allow this to affect our friendship.”

It was illogical to feel chastened. There was no way Nyota could have known that Spock’s devotion to his betrothed ran so deep, not from the way Jim and Spock invaded each other’s personal space to the exclusion of a third party (especially considering Vulcan social norms). It was impossible to tell that Spock’s closest relationship was not with Jim, who was merely a friend. Perhaps it would have been wise to have enquired about Spock’s relationship to his betrothed instead of his preferred beverage. “I’m sorry.”

“I will also refrain from speaking to Jim about this.”

Nyota supposed that Jim would do little but laugh at her until he died from asphyxiation if he knew. At least their relationship wasn’t compromised enough that Spock would subject her to Jim’s ridicule. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are required. Have a good day, Cadet,” Spock said, inclining his head in acknowledgement as he left, materials tucked neatly under one arm. He took the cup with him, and she took some comfort in that.

It was the last lecture of the semester. She had hoped that this would allow her to go on dates with Spock during the summer break, but it seemed that it was all just wishful thinking on her part.

\---

She was professional, but she was also human, so she spent a large portion of Level 6 Vulcan studiously avoiding eye contact with Spock. She had also stopped joining Jim and Spock (and the grouchy cadet) for lunch, which led Jim to drop in on a Level 6 Vulcan lecture to speak with her.

“Hey, Shani. Is the stress of your final year getting to you?” Jim asked as he plopped down on the seat next to Nyota.

The switch in Nyota’s brain flicked from ‘awkward avoidance’ to ‘aggressive banter’. “I suppose you just breezed through yours.”

Jim laughed. “Not in the least. I was on an accelerated double Science and Command track; I made myself finish it in three years to see if I could beat Spock. And Spock! You should’ve seen him in my third year! He actually resorted to the infamous Vulcan nerve pinch because I’d gotten so wound up that I couldn’t sleep for a whole week.”

“I wonder why he puts up with you,” Nyota joked. Somehow, it made her feel better to talk about Spock with Jim. Jim never talked about Spock’s betrothed, and in fact acted like such a person did not even exist.

“Sometimes I wonder too,” Jim said. Nyota chanced a glance at him and was surprised that his face had taken on a soft and fond expression.

“It’s not just him I wonder about,” Nyota teased.

Jim nudged her shoulder, raising a hand to his forehead and pretending to faint and push Nyota away at once. He groaned dramatically, “Jamilah, save yourself! You need to stop hanging around me, and take Gaila with you. You cannot allow your valuable brains to be corrupted by me before Starfleet can exploit them!”

“What about Spock?” Nyota asked, smiling. The grumpy cadet came to mind. “Or McCoy?”

“Bones is even more unhinged than I am— _he’s_ more likely to do _me_ harm. And Spock will be fine. I can’t possibly inflict more damage than the past nineteen, twenty, twenty-one years combined,” Jim said gleefully, unfolding his fingers as he counted.

“You’ve known him for that long?”

“It feels like even longer, with the way he drones so much. I told you we met in childhood, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but childhood is an incredibly vague term to describe a reference of time. It could be anywhere between birth and the age of maturity,” Nyota pointed out not unkindly.

“Spoken like a true friend of Spock’s,” Jim nodded his head sagely, as if Nyota needed some sort of approval from him to officialise their friendship.

She felt a slight clenching of her heart. Friend. Spock had said that the incident (she refused to acknowledge it any further than that) would not affect their friendship. She hoped that he would understand if it took her a while before she felt comfortable pretending that she felt nothing toward him but friendship.

“Speaking of which, I haven’t seen you around the cafeteria lately. Am I right about the stress?”

“Jim, being stressed is normal. I wouldn’t worry about it overmuch if I were you,” Nyota assured him without directly addressing the issue at hand. Being acquainted with Spock was doing wonders for her techniques of evasion.

“You know I’d still worry anyway,” Jim shrugged. “What’s really eating you?”

“Jim.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. The two of you are like two peas in a pod, always trying to hide something from me. You’d think Spock would’ve learnt by now that it’s impossible to keep the secrets from me.”

Nyota’s heart faltered. “I beg your pardon?”

Jim leaned back into the backrest of the chair, but his eyes were focused on Spock, who was quietly sorting through his notes at the front of the lecture hall. “I can read him like an open book and weather him down better than acid rain. Besides, he can only evade me for so long before I figure it out. Sometimes I think he does this because he enjoys the thrill of the game and not because I’m not supposed to know.”

“He’s far better than me at this game, then,” Nyota said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“He’s Vulcan,” Jim dismissed. “But, for what it’s worth, I think it’s a lot easier to know what he’s thinking than what you’re thinking. Chalk it up to twenty-one years of living in each other’s pants, if you will.”

“I’d rather not,” Nyota muttered, shivering at the mental image that had formed as a result of interpreting Jim’s offhanded idiom literally. Spock would be so proud.

Spock called for attention as break came to an end.

“I hope you’re feeling better now,” Jim whispered as Spock started talking about glottal stops.

Surprisingly, she did.

\---

One week later, she joined Jim and Spock (and McCoy) for lunch again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody gets a promotion. Except Spock. And Pike.

Her last semester as a cadet at Starfleet Academy passed in a whirlwind. She’d been chosen as a non-graded participant for the Kobayashi Maru test by some of her friends on the Command track who needed a Communications Officer and didn’t think about how she would be swamped by requests from other cadets as well. There was no time for self-pity, however, as she too was swept up in the hubbub leading up to graduation.

She wrote her graduation thesis on the impact of pre-Reformation Vulcan culture on modern Golic Vulcan under Spock’s supervision. Consultations in his office were slightly awkward but thankfully professional and to the point, with Spock raising an eyebrow or two at particular points in the thesis where Nyota had quoted a primary source who wished to remain anonymous. It was, however, clear to anyone who knew him that these quotes had Jim scrawled all over them.

(Jim had apparently submitted a 100-page report on pre-Reformation Vulcan culture for a history project while on Vulcan. Nyota didn’t know whether to be pleasantly surprised that she could grill him for information or completely unsurprised because it sounded exactly like something Jim would do if he had to choose any moment in Vulcan history to write on. To be honest, knowing Jim’s impressive academic history, Nyota’s surprise had more to do with the fact that Jim had managed to unearth enough sources to write 100 pages, given how tight-lipped Vulcans were about that particular period in their species’ history.)

A number of her extensive references had also been suggested by Jim, whose remarkable memory proved useful for once for something that wasn’t gathering incriminating blackmail. In fact, her entire thesis had Jim’s fingerprints all over it, if only because he insisted on helping her in order to tide him over his boredom until he finally received his commission. She eventually managed to wrestle her paper away from him after the initial data-gathering phase so she could write her analyses in (relative) peace. When she told him to bother somebody else, he whined and said that Gaila wouldn’t even look at him, and whined again that McCoy had all but blocked his comm number (Nyota was surprised that this hadn’t happened sooner).

Nyota wondered why that was.

It took her less than two seconds to connect the dots and realise that Jim, who knew far more about coding than xenolinguistics, had, in his immense intolerance of ennui, probably tried to take over Gaila’s graduation project entirely, which was all shades of unacceptable. The brass had rules and, more importantly, Gaila was not to be reckoned with when her pride was at stake. Furthermore, even on purportedly ‘good’ days, McCoy didn’t seem to enjoy Jim’s exuberant company in the least.

She would be glad when Jim was carted off to the far reaches of space, except that both of them were eyeing the USS _Enterprise_ and their determination to accept no other commission (“They won’t separate us,” Jim had said confidently, and Nyota had wondered who ‘us’ was and why it was even relevant) meant that she would likely be stuck with him in the same hunk of metal in deep space, or be grounded on Earth together.

It was not a reassuring thought, and neither option was a comforting prospect.

Her only comfort was that Spock had already been assigned as First Officer and Chief Science Officer aboard the _Enterprise_. If there was anybody whom she could count on to contain Jim’s overenthusiasm, it was Spock, even if it still made her heart squeeze to think about him.

His bondmate must exist because Vulcans did not lie, but it had been so many years and she’d never even seen a hint of that person in his life. As far as she knew, his parents were his only family on Vulcan. (Jim occasionally inserted himself into the family portrait as an ‘honorary son’.)

Nyota finally turned her thesis in for submission three days after Gaila did. The Orion had been completely insufferable, flaunting her absolute lack of stress by lounging on her bed and sipping sparkling juice from a wineglass. Jim, who had been present when Nyota returned from duty at the long-range sensor labs (Why did Nyota even volunteer? Right, extra credit to increase her chances of being assigned to her ship of choice), was then subjected to a very angry rant about the destruction of a Klingon armada (47 ships! All destroyed by one giant ship!), how it made no sense, and how she needed some serious peace and quiet because her Level 7 Vulcan exam was in a few days so _would you please stop bothering me, Gaila!_

Needless to say Gaila scuppered out of their room with Jim on her heels and returned only after Nyota had fallen asleep.

\---

Jim invited them over to his place for a celebratory drink the moment Gaila commed him about Nyota’s newfound—but still limited because finals were in a few days—freedom. He would’ve just smuggled something into their dorm if Starfleet weren’t so keen on discipline. As it was, Jim wouldn’t risk his potential commission aboard the _Enterprise_ for any amount of illegal Romulan ale, and both Nyota and Gaila shared that sentiment.

It turned out that Jim lived just off campus, a short five minute walk from the main square of the Academy with easy access to the hangar bays that lined the south edge of the campus and were situated right between the academic and executive branches of Starfleet’s San Francisco headquarters. The name printed on the tag on the door read ‘S’chn T’gai’, which Nyota immediately recognised as romanised Vulcan. More importantly, Nyota recognised it as the name of Spock’s clan, which he’d briefly mentioned as an example of Vulcan naming conventions.

“Is there something you aren’t telling us, Jim?” Nyota asked, looking pointedly at the name on the plaque as Jim pushed the door open and called for lights at 100 percent.

Jim blinked at her. “I live with Spock. I thought you knew that.” He looked at Gaila, and then back at Nyota. “Gaila knew that.”

Nyota narrowed her eyes at Gaila, who was trying and failing to look innocent.

“It must have slipped my mind,” Gaila smiled sweetly.

“Slipped your mind indeed,” Nyota muttered under her breath as she pushed her way past Gaila and into the apartment, where Jim gestured at her to leave her cadet jacket on the coat hanger. He retreated further in while Nyota and Gaila hung their jackets up and held each other’s eyes in a battle of righteous fury against honeyed pretences.

“Shall I pop open the champagne?” Jim called from inside. “Take a seat on the couch, by the way. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Gaila flounced toward Jim’s voice as Nyota walked slowly into the living room. It was slightly smaller than their dorm, with three doorways that she could see and an open kitchen where Jim was rummaging through his refrigerator. There was no sign of any pets. As she gingerly took a seat on the couch, heart pounding at the thought that this was also Spock’s apartment, she heard Gaila squeal, presumably at Jim’s selection, “Oh, Jimmy! Save this one for your anniversary—don’t waste chocolate liquor on us. We’ll just take the chilled beer.”

“Anniversary?” Nyota asked when Jim got out a couple of glasses and set them on the low-lying coffee table. There was an unfinished game of 3D chess on it. Nyota didn’t know much about the game, but she knew enough to tell that black was winning, so that was probably Spock.

To her surprise, Jim actually blushed. “It’s coming up.”

Gaila suddenly appeared beside Nyota, leaning next to her ear and squealing at a frequency that could probably shatter glass, “It’s the same day as his birthday. Isn’t it so romantic?”

Nyota couldn’t get away from Gaila fast enough, ears ringing. She distantly heard Jim say something about having waited too long for it to be romantic, and besides, it’s just the formal ceremony, but turned her eyes accusingly on Gaila in favour of saying, “Perhaps it would be more romantic if I actually knew what sort of anniversary it is—”

Their communicators wailed simultaneously. It was a sound that they had only ever heard in emergency exercises, but it was one that had been drilled into them since day one.

Jim’s face grew grim. There must have been more information on his than merely: _All graduating cadets are to report to HANGAR BAY 1 immediately. This is not a drill._

“We’ll have time to drink later. There’s been a distress call from Vulcan.”

They left the apartment with their jackets half falling off their shoulders, lungs tight and feet heavy as they ran to the hangar bays.

\---

The communicators of each cadet chirped as they crossed the threshold into the hangar bay. Nyota distantly recalled that Starfleet had installed and been testing prototypes to download relevant data to personal devices upon entry to key locations. The result was a constant cacophony of high pitched beeping from the entrance that was nearly enough to drown out the chaos of stampeding feet and shouted orders. Nyota looked at her comm, vaguely aware that Jim had separated from them the moment they entered the hangar.

 _CADET NYOTA UHURA, due to extenuating circumstances, you have been promoted to the rank of LIEUTENANT. You are to report to shuttlecraft GILLIAM (dock 28) for transport to USS_ ENTERPRISE _(NCC-1701). You are assigned to LONG-RANGE SENSOR LABORATORY 2. You will receive further instructions after you have reported to your station. Uniforms will be provided. Quarters will be assigned if necessary._

Nyota felt somebody grab her arm, and she looked up to see Gaila smiling broadly at her, eyes twinkling. Her golden lips opened, “Enterprise?”

“Enterprise,” Nyota confirmed, feeling lightheaded. She had suspected as much, of course, given her outstanding academic record and extra credit volunteer work at the labs, but to have it confirmed was still something of a dream.

“Come on,” Gaila said, and dragged her deeper into the hangar bay.

They showed their IDs to the officer at the entrance of the shuttle, who scanned them quickly and waved them in. Nyota spotted Jim’s grumpy friend huddled alone in the back of the craft, hands gripping the armrests of his seat. Grinning, she pulled Gaila toward him.

“Hello, McCoy,” Nyota greeted amicably as they buckled in beside him. “Great weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t be so smug,” he groused unhappily, trying to press himself even deeper into his seat. “Jim thinks that the situation is more severe than the brass wants you to think. He’s with Spock on another shuttle trying to hash out the details of whatever natural disaster’s currently wrecking the planet.”

Nyota felt her stomach sink. “Is Spock okay?”

“The hobgoblin said he’s fine, which is of course utter bullshit, and Jim agrees with me for once.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Goddammit_ , I’m not ready for this yet. Pike promised me that it’d be at least another _goddamn_ _month_ before this damn ship launches, but look where we are now, ready to warp into space to rescue a planet full of green-blooded hobgoblins from their own goddamn planet. I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“You’ll be fine,” Gaila assured him perkily from Nyota’s other side. “Also, I think Captain Pike would prefer his crewmembers completely sober.”

The shuttle shuddered to life around them, and McCoy twitched like a startled rabbit. Nyota believed that he would’ve fled the shuttle had he not been securely buckled to his seat. She heard him mutter under his breath, “Where is that damned Scotsman with his never-ending stash of scotch when I need him…”

They sat in silence, the hum of the shuttle wrapping around them like an immaterial blanket, while McCoy did his best to keep his eyes closed until Nyota nudged him to take his first look at the _Enterprise_. She watched, raptured, as their shuttle was piloted toward the _Enterprise_ where it was docked in space, a gleam of new metal and ice blue and fluorescent windows against a backdrop of scattered stars and galaxies.

And then McCoy started dry heaving and Nyota was desperately trying to get her shoes away from the potential splash zone.

\---

Once docked in the shuttle bay of the _Enterprise_ , they were instructed to report to their stations immediately. Nyota gave Gaila a brief hug and McCoy, who looked a little green, a nod before briskly setting off in the direction indicated by her PADD, where a flashing red dot marked her present position and a cool blue line plotted the most efficient path to her destination.

All of a sudden, she was stopped by a hand catching her wrist.

“Uhura! Uhura!”

“Jim?” Nyota asked, surprised to see him. They stopped in the middle of the hallway, and Jim, panting slightly, dragged her to the side to allow others to pass them by.

“Who was responsible for the Klingon attack and was the ship Romulan?”

“What?”

“The Klingon armada, 47 ships destroyed. You said you translated a Klingon distress signal yesterday. Was the ship Romulan?”

“I—yes. Yes, it was. What’s going on?”

Jim’s eyes widened before he took off running in the direction from which he came.

“Jim!” Nyota chased after him as he raced into a turbolift and called it to take them to the bridge. The door closed behind them as Jim all but yelled into the comm unit built into the turbolift.

“Captain Pike, Sir, we need to warn the other ships before they warp!”

Captain Pike’s voice echoed loudly in the enclosed space of the turbolift, “Commander, why aren’t you on the bridge? Where are you?”

Nyota blinked. _Commander?_ Her eyes flicked down to the sleeve of Jim’s command yellow uniform, where, sure enough, the bands indicated that he’d been promoted to the rank of lieutenant commander. At this rate he was going to be a captain before his next birthday.

“I apologise. I’m on my way, Sir.” Jim took a deep breath. “Sir, it’s a trap. Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster; it’s being attacked by Romulans.”

“Romulans.” Nyota could tell that the Captain was considering confining Jim to sickbay.

The turbolift stopped and opened into the bridge. Jim stepped out swiftly and marched to Captain Pike, who was seated in his chair. Spock was standing beside the captain’s chair as if he’d been speaking with the Captain before Jim commed the bridge. “Permission to speak, Sir.”

“Permission granted.”

Jim settled into parade rest, delivering his report with a calmness that barely contained his nervous energy. “That same anomaly, a lightning storm in space that we saw today, also occurred on the day of my birth, before a Romulan ship attacked the USS _Kelvin_. You know that, Sir, I read your dissertation. That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen or heard from again. Kelvin was attacked in a place on the edge of Klingon space and at 2300 hours last night there was an attack—47 Klingon warbirds destroyed by Romulans, Sir. It was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship.”

“And you know of this Klingon attack how?”

Jim turned to look at Nyota, who then felt half the eyes on the bridge also turn to her.

“Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself. The commander’s report is accurate.”

“We’ll be warping into a trap,” Jim concluded. “The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that.” Through the viewscreen, starships began retreating from the dock to prepare for warp. Nyota felt a profound disconnect between the picturesque view of floating starships with slowly blinking lights and a sinking sense of awareness that this ship was full of cadets and ill-prepared officers who were definitely not ready for an altercation with Romulans that destroyed an entire Klingon armada.

When she imagined a career in Starfleet she did not imagine charging into danger before she’d even graduated.

“The commander’s logic is sound,” Spock said to their captain. “And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolinguistics; we would be wise to accept her conclusion.”

Captain Pike contemplated in silence for a beat. “We will proceed to Vulcan as planned. Helm, prepare to leave spacedock.” To the communications station, he said, “When we are in range, scan Vulcan space, check for any transmissions in Romulan.”

“Sir, I’m not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan,” the Communications Officer informed Captain Pike immediately, looking slightly worried.

The Captain looked at Nyota. “What about you? Do you speak Romulan, Cadet…?”

“Uhura. All three dialects, Sir,” she supplied promptly.

“Uhura, relieve the lieutenant,” Captain Pike said, expression grim.

“Yes, Sir,” she said through her fluster, and took the seat that the lieutenant vacated, numbly synchronising her personal earpiece with the bridge station.

Captain Pike gave Jim and Spock a brief glance each before pressing a button for the intercom. “All decks, this is Captain Pike. Prepare for immediate departure. Helm, thrusters.”

The _Enterprise_ hummed beneath her feet and whirred quietly as the helmsman started to engage the warp drive. There was a slight glitch—the helmsman had forgotten to disengage something—but Nyota hardly noticed, because, soon enough, the ship jumped to warp and the viewscreen devolved into streaks of light.

“Lieutenant Uhura, hail the USS _Truman_ and request that they have their shields in place before dropping out of warp. Patch it through to my ready room,” Pike ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” Nyota said, hands working a sequence that she was a familiar with, having run through it countless times in the Kobayashi Maru simulation.

Pike got up from the captain’s chair. “Mister Spock, you have the conn,” he said, and a quiet hiss indicated that he left the bridge.

She worked with her hands, mind at once frozen and in overdrive, as she familiarised herself with the controls. There was a limit to her ability to remain clam in crisis and now, with adrenaline pumping through her veins and nothing she could do to quell the trembling of her limbs, she felt ready to burst forth from her skin. But she had to be disciplined. She would no doubt face more situations such as this if she wished to serve on a starship, and learning to deal with an inherently human need to do something physical to alleviate the hormones coursing through her blood was essential.

She took a breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. She could do this. They would still be out of range for a while so she had time to wrangle her shaking hands into submission.

Nyota leaned back in the chair, twisting it sideways to look at the viewscreen, then swivelled in the other direction to observe the rest of the bridge. She could hardly believe that she was a bridge officer now.

At the back, Jim and Spock were huddled over the science station, holding a quiet discussion with their shoulders leant against each other, the hands between their bodies pressed back to back. The captain’s chair remained unoccupied, though there was no doubt that Spock would immediately take his place should the situation demand it. Their ranks were close and their hands perfectly aligned, so the stripes on their sleeves blended almost seamlessly from silver to silver, blue to yellow. Their heads were bowed, and, when Jim turned his head toward Spock, Nyota had an irrational thought that maybe Jim was kissing him.

Nyota focus shifted swiftly to her station. Now was not the time to play a pining teenage girl. She had a duty to perform. They were still some way away from Vulcan, but Nyota nevertheless plugged her earpiece in and started scanning.

\---

They were definitely in range now but Nyota couldn’t pick up any transmissions at all—none from the ships that had arrived before them and none from the planet which was surely still actively broadcasting its distress signal. Something was blocking them. She reported as much to Captain Pike.

“That’s because they’re being attacked,” Jim said firmly.

“Shields up, red alert,” Captain Pike intoned gravely.

“Arrival at Vulcan in five seconds, four, three, two—” the helmsman announced before he was cut off by the _Enterprise_ wailing as she dropped out of warp. Streaks of light cleared to give way to what looked like absolute carnage. The broken and smashed hulls of Federation ships floated among loose debris, spots of orange and red lit up where fires had broken out, and, beyond them, barely visible through the dense drifting cluster of smouldering starship corpses, was Vulcan. It was a severe red horizon in the distance, the fierce colour of its sands a terribly similar shade to explosions in blackened metal wreckages above the planet.

Nyota averted her gaze immediately and focused on her station as the Captain tried to guide the _Enterprise_ to safety. The helmsman’s steering sent Nyota’s stomach churning as Captain Pike ordered a series of evasive manoeuvres that had the _Enterprise_ taking sharp twists and turns in the cramped space between one wrecked hull and the next, ghostly screeching ringing in her ears as a piece of debris scraped past the _Enterprise_.

They eventually cleared the impromptu starship cemetery to be greeted by the sight of a monstrous metal beast of a ship orbiting parallel to Vulcan’s surface. Its severe dark spines extended far beyond the reach of the viewscreen, and were arranged seemingly haphazardly around a central region at one end, forming a silhouette that could only be described as viciously terrifying. The ridged surface of these protrusions reflected the barest of amount of light from Vulcan’s suns, shrouding the bulk of the ship in blackness, as the ship cruised across the viewscreen.

She saw the projectiles coming but she wasn’t prepared for the terrible lurching of the _Enterprise_ when they hit, flinging the ship off balance as if she were no sturdier than an autumnal leaf easily plucked off by a gentle breeze.

As she braced herself against her station for another volley of hits, her eyes drifted, as they always did, toward Spock, whose fingers appeared to be wrapped so tightly around Jim’s that his knuckles were almost white. For once, she caught a flash of emotion on Spock’s face—fear—before it was quickly smothered by discipline, shutters coming right down over his eyes. Jim, on the other hand, had no such compunctions. Knowing that Jim had grown up on Vulcan made something hot and painful rise in her throat as she watched Jim stare at the viewscreen, eyes wide and mouth pressed into a thin, grim line.

Suddenly, she became aware that there was a blinking light at her station. “Captain, we’re being hailed,” she said automatically, and directed the transmission to the viewscreen, where a man with ears and eyebrows pointed in the fashion of Vulcans appeared on screen (except that one of his ears looked like it’d been bitten off). She could tell immediately that he was, in fact, Romulan from the mourning tattoos he had etched on his face and forehead.

“Hello,” he said.

“I am Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?”

“Hi, Christopher, I’m Nero.” His tone was almost cavalier, as if he hadn’t been trying to shoot them out of the sky seconds earlier.

“You’ve declared war against the Federation. Withdraw, and I’ll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location.”

“I do not speak for the Empire. We stand apart, as does your Vulcan crewmember, isn’t that right, Spock?”

Nyota’s eyes snapped to Spock, who stood from his seat but did not otherwise release his grip on Jim’s hand. “Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted.” Jim stood up too as Spock started to walk toward the viewscreen. There was something Nyota was forgetting about Vulcan hands, but it wasn’t important at the moment when there was a psychopathic Romulan who had just destroyed more ships in a couple of minutes than Starfleet could build in a five year window.

“No we’re not. Not yet. Spock, there is something I would like you to see. Captain Pike, your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice. You will man a shuttle; come aboard the Narada for negotiations. That’s all.” The Romulan—Nero—inclined his head in a mockery of a nod and terminated the transmission.

Half a minute later Captain Pike left the bridge with Jim, Spock, and the helmsman, leaving the teenage Russian navigator in charge in what Nyota personally thought was an utterly stupid decision. The kid looked like he shouldn’t even be out of _high school_ , let alone left in charge of an entire Federation _starship_.

She privately wondered how else this day could go spectacularly wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which curiosity almost kills a cat. Almost.

She wished she hadn’t wondered, although the rational part of her knew that what was happening would be happening anyway even if she hadn’t jinxed anything.

Jim was on the surface of a drill from the future suspended kilometres above the surface of Vulcan and wrestling with a Romulan (who had _three_ times Jim’s strength) with nothing but his hands. Was there no other way to destroy the drill? Couldn’t they just shoot it from the ship? 1 No matter how much of a pain Jim was sometimes he was still her friend. Furthermore, Spock looked like he was about to crush the armrests of the captain’s chair with his bare hands as they listened to the grunts and impacts conveyed to them from the communicators sewn into the jumpsuits of Jim and the helmsman (Sulu was his name).

Nyota couldn’t decide if not having visuals of what was happening down below was a blessing or a curse. Then there was the sound of guns blasting and communications were restored, and Jim was telling them that the Romulans had launched something into the hole they’d just drilled and the Russian navigator (Chekov, Uhura finally recalled) told them that they’d created a _black hole_ in the centre of Vulcan and Nyota felt like she was trapped in a nightmare.

Spock more or less abdicated the captain’s chair, barking out orders at a speed that was more than twice his usual words per minute rate, “Alert Vulcan Command Centre to signal a planetwide evacuation—all channels, all frequencies—maintain standard orbit.” When she tried to go after him he fixed her with a hard look and said, “You will remain at your station and do as I ordered, Lieutenant,” and allowed the turbolift doors to slide shut between them.

Then there was no time to feel stunned by his impersonal brush off because Jim, foolish, stupid Jim, had jumped off the drill because Sulu had fallen without a chute. _Why the hell had Sulu been standing on the edge to begin with?_

(Her uncle had burnt up upon entry into the atmosphere of a planet when the shuttle they were on was damaged.2 She didn’t want anybody else dying by plummeting to a surface again. No more.)

Ensign Chekov leapt up from his seat and left the bridge to attempt to manually beam Jim and Sulu back to the _Enterprise_ when the crewmember manning transporter controls couldn’t get a lock on them, and Nyota spent a few long heart-stopping moments wondering if Jim was going to just fall to his death after having survived vengeful Romulans with guns because this just seemed so anticlimactic and Spock would grieve even though he claimed that Vulcans didn’t feel and Gaila would stop smiling and surely Jim would have wanted a more glorious death and _oh God why was Nyota thinking these morbid thoughts?_

She could hear all the panicking going on in the transporter room because its intercom was still engaged with the bridge’s speakers, and this was just about as bad as waiting to know if Jim survived his fisticuff with the armed Romulans.

When it seemed that the worst was over because Ensign Chekov had accomplished the impossible (give the boy a medal, a commendation, _and_ a promotion) and beamed Jim and Sulu back in one piece from a planet which gravitational field was spiking unpredictably, Spock had to get on the transporter pad to beam down to the surface and Jim had to join him because they were friends or something (Nyota couldn’t quite hear what they called each other over the sounds of people trying to convince them not to go, but it didn’t matter because two of her best friends were beaming down onto a dying planet and she really couldn’t bring herself to care about linguistics at this point).

She could not fathom why Spock had to personally beam to the surface, but it must be either very important or very foolish if Jim insisted on following.

The bridge was crowded with noise and wailing sirens, but Nyota felt exceptionally alone. She took the transporter room channel off the speakers but left it connected to her earpiece, her ears automatically filtering out the chaos of the bridge and listening out for any signs of Jim and Spock’s successful return. They had to. She could not, _would not_ , entertain any other outcome.

Seconds ticked by slowly until it became one minute, then two, then three, and then there was the sound of the transporter whirring to life and Ensign Chekov frantically muttering to himself and just as Nyota was about to heave a sigh of relief she heard Spock shouting, “ _Mother!_ ”

His parents had been on Vulcan.

Spock’s parents had been on Vulcan and Nyota had tried to stop him earlier because she was curious and concerned. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She would never forgive herself if something went wrong, and it sounded like something had definitely gone wrong. Guilt curled in her gut.

Had his bondmate been on Vulcan too?

“Spock!” That was Jim’s voice. “Amanda’s here. She’s fine. I got her.”

“Fine has variable definitions. Fine is unacceptable,” Spock said, voice wavering, as if trying to convince himself of something he didn’t quite believe. “I could have lost you too.”

“But you didn’t, so it’s fine. She’s fine. We’re all fine,” Jim said, low and tempered. He sounded like he was speaking through a smile and using only half a lung.

“Spock. We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.” Nyota did not recognise this voice, but from context, it must be Spock’s mother, and the world started turning again. Nyota felt the tension and fear drain right out of her.

“Mother. Jim,” Spock whispered, and Nyota terminated the connection.

She had almost killed Spock’s mother with her curiosity, and no amount of satisfaction would have brought her back.3

On the viewscreen, Vulcan collapsed in on itself.

\---

Spock arrived on the bridge to record a log as Acting Captain using the captain’s chair. It was a sombre affair. Most of the crew avoided looking at him while he detachedly rattled off figures about the destruction of his home planet and the loss of its people. For many, it was the first time they’d ever come in contact with a member of an endangered sentient species, so there was little they could offer in the way of comfort.

When he ended the recording, Spock instructed the crew to receive all the shuttles that had managed to escape from Vulcan before its destruction. No other vessels survived the attack by the Romulans despite Pike’s warnings. He then got up immediately to leave after passing the conn to Sulu. Nyota left her seat to join him, and once the turbolift doors were closed, she pressed for it to stop between floors.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking him in the eye. She couldn’t tell if she was sorry that he lost his planet or that she almost caused his mother’s death. While Spock was looking in her direction, he seemed to see past her, eyes focused on something very far away.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and brought her hands up to wrap them around his arms. He stood, unmoving, and she took it as a sign that he allowed her touch.

But when she tried to take his face in her hands, Spock hands came up to push her away roughly. She stumbled backward, back bumping into the wall of the turbolift, arms reaching out for balance.

“I apologise,” Spock said, voice hoarse, as if he’d only just come back to himself.

“No, don’t,” Nyota told him. She pressed her arms to her sides to keep from touching him. “What do you need? Tell me.”

Spock pushed the button to get the turbolift moving again. When he spoke, he kept his eyes trained on the doors. “I need everyone to continue performing admirably. There is nothing else you can do.”

The doors opened with a hiss, and Spock left without looking back. She had a feeling that his opinion of her leaving her station to ‘comfort’ him was less than glowing.

One step forward, two steps back.

\---

Nyota headed straight back to the bridge after cornering Spock in the turbolift. She busied herself by coordinating communications with Vulcan escape shuttles when Jim and Spock emerged from the turbolift, their shoulders practically glued to each other. She hadn’t realised that Vulcans were that tactile, but if there was any time to be tactile, it was now, in the aftermath of their planet’s destruction. McCoy trailed after them with a medical tricorder, waving a sensor over their heads.

All of McCoy’s questions were directed at Jim, but none of them seemed to pertain to him. In fact, none of the questions even made sense. “Is he thinking dark thoughts? What about his hormone levels? Is his mind spiking unpredictably? Are you sure he’s not projecting? Dammit, I should’ve taken his baseline readings before everything went to hell.”

They came to a stop beside the captain’s chair, both of them staring at the viewscreen where stars passed them by. McCoy continued to poke and prod the both of them, his tricorder beeping and whirring every few seconds.

“Have you confirmed that Nero is headed for Earth?” Spock suddenly said.

The question seemed to be directed at nobody in particular. “Their trajectory suggests no other destination, Captain,” Nyota informed him, almost desperate to assure herself that she hadn’t destroyed their friendship by making advances on Spock when he was most vulnerable. She willed him to look at her—just a flick of an eye will do—to acknowledge her presence.

Spock simply stared ahead. “Ensign Chekov, can you confirm the lieutenant’s conclusion?”

Nyota closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. This wasn’t entirely unexpected since she didn’t have the expertise to track warp trails (nor did her console have anything remotely relevant), but it still stung. There was a moment of silence, the ensign’s hand flying over the controls in front of him, before he affirmed, “Yes, Sir. Her report is accurate.”

“Earth may be his next stop but we have to assume that every Federation planet’s a target,” Jim said.

“Well, if the Federation’s the target, why didn’t they destroy us?” Ensign Chekov wondered aloud.

“Why would they?” Lieutenant Sulu chimed. “Why waste a weapon when we obviously weren’t a threat?”

Spock disagreed almost immediately, “That is not it. He said he wanted me to see something—the destruction of my home planet.”

McCoy paused in the middle of scanning Jim’s back, which was covered in crusted blood. “How the hell did they do that, by the way? Where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry?”

“The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer. Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time,” Spock suggested.

“Dammit, you hobgoblin, I’m a doctor, not a physicist! Are you actually suggesting that they’re from the future?”

“If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” Spock said calmly, ignoring McCoy’s slur.

“How poetic,” McCoy sniffed, and went back to scanning Jim’s back. “Goddammit, Jim, can’t you go a day without needing to be patched up?”

Jim ignored him. “What would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Pike?”

“As Captain he does know details of Starfleet’s defence systems,” Lieutenant Sulu supplied.

The bridge fell silent after that. Nyota watched Jim and Spock trade microscopic expressions—twitches at the corners of their eyes and lips that seemed to mean something that Nyota couldn’t for the life of her divine—with their hands visibly touching and their arms pressed together from wrist to shoulder. If it took twenty-one years to achieve this level of friendship with a Vulcan, Nyota would be pushing fifty before Spock stopped flinching away from her touch and started considering a romantic relationship a remote possibility.

“Spock,” Jim said firmly but quietly, barely audible to Nyota who was seated just behind them.

“Jim, I—”

“No. It’ll be fine; we’ll be in touch. I won’t do anything you don’t approve of. Just go. You need it,” Jim insisted.

“Thank you,” Spock whispered.

McCoy, who was still standing behind them waving his sensor around and who was definitely close enough to hear their hushed conversation, perked up and muttered almost gleefully. “That’s it? You’ll obediently take a rest with just that? If it’s going to be so easy I’m having Jim wear you down for the next three days.”

Spock fixed him with a look that McCoy seemed to find hilarious, if his smile was anything to go by. When Spock next spoke, it was deliberately pitched just loud enough to carry to the rest of the bridge, “Doctor, I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command based on the fact that I am emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship’s log.”

Nyota didn’t think that he sounded compromised at all. His voice was completely level.

“Duly noted,” McCoy acknowledged perfunctorily, but the smug smile was still on his face.

As Spock stepped away from Jim, two of Jim’s fingers trailed along Spock’s hand and wrist.

After the turbolift doors had closed behind Spock, the doctor’s expression did a sudden one-eighty and he exclaimed, “Goddammit, Jim! Now we have no Captain and no goddamn First Officer to replace him! You should’ve waited until he picked somebody!”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Jim said sheepishly, and then stepped around the captain’s chair to take a seat in it.

“Pike made him to First Officer,” Sulu shrugged, pointing at Jim.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” McCoy hissed.

“Thanks for the support,” Jim huffed. He pressed a button on the arm of the chair to begin a ship-wide broadcast. “Attention crew of the _Enterprise_ , this is Lieutenant Commander James T. Commander Spock has temporarily relieved himself of duty and advanced me to Acting Captain. I’m ordering a pursuit course of the enemy’s ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and standing by in ten minutes. Estimated time of arrival will be announced once a course has been laid in. I want every crewmember to be ready for a confrontation immediately after dropping out of warp unless advised otherwise. James T. out.” The broadcast ended with a cheerful series of notes that sounded out of place in the gravity of the situation they were in.

“We won’t be able to get anywhere in a timely fashion in the state we’re in,” Jim muttered to himself. He pushed a button again. “Engineering, status report. How hard can we push her?”

“We have the core stabilised for travel up to Warp 3, Sir. As per Commander Spock’s orders, we’ve prioritised the containment of radiation leaks in the lower decks and restoration of subspace communications,” said a thin, harried voice from the bridge speakers. Nyota could hear hissing in the background that did not bode well for the state of the engineering decks.

“Put communications on hold for the moment. I want as many non-essential crewmembers as you can spare working to boost warp core stability and improve warp yield. You may resume restoration of subspace communications once we have Warp 4. Can improvements to the core be made while in warp?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” He terminated the channel. “Lieutenant Sulu, plot a course for Earth, Warp Factor Three. Drop us out of warp once we’re back in the Sol system just outside the Kuiper Belt.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sulu acknowledge, fingers a blur above his console. “Course laid in.”

“Punch it,” Jim said, and stars blurred to streaks once more on the viewscreen. “Ensign Chekov, begin shipwide broadcast with estimated time of arrival. Once you’re done, I need everyone to start brainstorming ideas for how we can approach the Romulan ship without drawing attention to ourselves.”

Jim got up from the chair as soon as Chekov was done with the broadcast, yellow alert lights activated and blinking on and off slowly. He walked over to the helm where he stood opposite Sulu and Chekov with his back to the viewscreen and conversed with them in low tones. McCoy, who seemed to be the sort of doctor that would follow his patients to hell and back if it meant that he could put a band aid on a scratch, scrambled after Jim with his whirring spinning sensor all while cursing him in very colourful metaphors.

It seemed that the longer they talked the more people joined their discussion, and soon enough Nyota too had joined them, having been pulled into a riveting argument with whiz kid Chekov about using subspace oscillations to distract the Narada’s sensors.

Just as Nyota was about to put forth another point in her favour, the ensign was distracted by a reading on his console. “Keptin James—”

“Jim, please,” Jim interrupted, insisting on principle.

“I am detecting unauthorised access to water turbine control board,” Chekov finished.

“Bring up the video.”

Nyota peered around the console to look at the video feed, where a man with salt and pepper hair was helping somebody sprawled across the brick red floor of Turbine Section 3. Beside them, a small creature with a pair of goggles on its head eyed them, unmoving. They didn’t look very threatening, but she was glad that Jim took precautions anyway.

He pushed a button on the navigator’s console. “Security, seal the engineering deck. We have intruders in Turbine Section 3. Set phasers to stun. You are to apprehend them and bring them up to the bridge.”

They waited in apprehension for security to send the men (and their little companion) up. When the doors of the turbolift opened, a man who was drenched from head to toe came stumbling out with his arms raised in classic surrender, leaving wet footprints in his wake, followed by a short, ambling creature. Lastly, an old man—very old, judging by the density of lines on his face—walked sedately behind them guided forward by the hand of a security personnel on his shoulder.

“Spock?” Jim uttered with confusion and bewilderment, sending ripples of murmurs through the bridge.

“James T. Kirk. It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend, especially after the events of today,” the old Vulcan said benevolently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 A lot of the stuff that went down in STXI could've been prevented if everyone just acted a little less ridiculous (seriously, what's stopping them from shooting the drill down from the Enterprise?), but in the interest of 'preserving the timeline', I'd opted not to change too much.  
> 2 In the Star Trek comics, it was shown that Uhura had an uncle who died by burning up on entry into a planet's atmosphere when she was very young. I took this to mean that it was quite traumatic and clearly something she'd never want to happen to Kirk. So, no, that uncle reference wasn't completely out of left field.  
> 3 The quote "curiosity killed the cat" has a lesser known rejoinder "but satisfaction brought it back".
> 
> Kudos to Derek_the_Dalek who saw the first sentence of this chapter coming. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chekov is seventeen. Nobody is surprised.

Nyota’s eyes flicked from Jim to the old man, whose pointed ears indicated Vulcan ancestry. _Kirk? Didn’t Jim say that his last name was difficult to pronounce?_  Moreover, who was this man whom Jim called 'Spock' and seemed so shocked to see?

Jim edged slowly to the captain’s chair and pushed a button. “Bridge to Commander Spock.”

“Captain?” Spock’s voice said through the intercom, alert and ready.

“You should come up to the bridge. I think there’s something you ought to see. Jim out.”

“You are Captain of the _Enterprise_ 1?” the old Vulcan asked, evidently surprised. This must be the most emotive Vulcan Nyota had ever met, although, granted, she hadn’t met a lot of Vulcans.

“Acting Captain,” Jim clarified. “Captain Pike’s been taken hostage and Commander Spock relieved himself of duty after the loss of his planet—your planet. Who are you? You’re not Spock—at least, you’re not the Spock I know.”

“It is fortunate that you saw fit to make that distinction. You may call me Selek. The circumstances surrounding my presence in this region can be better explained through a mind meld. May I have your permission? I believe I have information that you will find useful.” the old Vulcan asked, raising his right hand to eye level, fingers spread out like a web.

“It would be better if you melded with Commander Spock. If you’re anything like him, I don’t think I’ll be able to remain upright if you let any of your emotions through, especially after what happened today.2” Jim grimaced. “Sorry. Even now, Spock can still shield better than me.”

“That is understandable. I shall wait,” Selek acceded. Nyota thought that he looked curious and unsettled, as if everything on the bridge was at once nothing and exactly like he’d expected. He then turned to his companions, gesturing at them. “This is Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott. He was stationed at the Starfleet outpost on Delta Vega as disciplinary action in response to an ill-advised experiment involving a Starfleet admiral’s pet canine. This is his assistant, Keenser.”

There was a smile on Jim’s face when he finally turned his attention away from Selek and took in the sight of the lieutenant commander. “Scotty! I was wondering where you were. How did you get on board anyway? We’re at warp.”

“Laddie, ‘tis good to see you again! This crazy Vulcan had some unbelievable transwarp beaming equations in his head. Do you have sandwiches on this beautiful ship?”

“No time for sandwiches, Scotty. Your expertise is sorely needed in Engineering. You can have all the sandwiches you want when we’re sure we’re not about to be blown up by angry Romulans.” Jim turned to one of the security personnel. “Lieutenant Hendorff, have the quartermaster give the lieutenant commander a set of uniform and a towel to dry off with. Scotty, come back here for a briefing once you’ve changed—if I’m making you my Chief Engineer, we can’t have you running around in that.”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” the lieutenant commander snapped a happy salute before being escorted away by Hendorff, who gave Nyota a brief nod just as the turbolift doors closed. Nyota met him during the Academy’s optional orientation programme, where he proved to be almost frustratingly chivalrous. Having a long list of spurned suitors, Nyota avoided him like the plague (just like she had Jim) because past experience told her that purely platonic relationships with men were practically impossible. They always expected sex out of it, and tended to pretend she didn’t exist when she refused to allow a sexual element into their friendships. Hendorff had eventually apologised and proved to be the exception to the rule, a rule that was starting to become less and less set in stone as Nyota continued to associate with Jim.3

To the little being, Jim said, “Do you mind running down to Engineering to help out?”

Keenser stared at him with beady black eyes, and for a moment it seemed like it would mind very much. Then, it gave a curt shake.

“I’m afraid we don’t have uniforms in your size—I hope you’re fine with what you’re wearing. We can replicate something for you later once we’re out of danger.”

Keenser nodded.

“Great. You can take the turbolift straight down to the first engineering deck. I’ll have somebody wait for you. Thanks a lot,” Jim said, smiling.

Keenser cocked its head, and then stalked off toward the turbolift without a word. Jim had just finished arranging for Engineering to orientate Keenser when the doors opened and Spock walked out. Keenser brushed past the commander and the doors closed swiftly after it. Spock raised an eyebrow at Jim, who just gave him a sheepish look.

“The more the merrier,” he said by way of explanation.

“Indeed,” Spock replied austerely. He came to stand by Jim’s side and eyed the older Vulcan with dark eyes. “This is highly unusual.”

“Mister Spock, this is Selek. Selek, Commander Spock,” Jim gestured. From the looks on the Vulcans’ faces, it looked like they did not require the introduction. “Spock, Selek has something important to convey to us, if you would agree to a meld.”

“You have my consent,” Spock agreed, and moved closer to the older Vulcan.

Three wrinkled fingers came to rest on the side of the commander’s face as the older Vulcan uttered softly, “Our minds, one and together.”

Nyota could not tell what was happening in the meld. She had heard of them before, but without a frame of reference she had no idea of how long this information download would last. She took the time to look around the bridge as the two Vulcans stood rigidly facing each other and noticed that half the bridge was staring at them. Jim had a look on his face that was halfway between awe and trepidation, which didn’t bode well for what was happening.

Lieutenant Commander Scott reported to the bridge while the Vulcans were still occupied. Jim signalled for him to remain quiet, which he did while trying to get water out of his ears with a standard issue towel as white as the _Enterprise_ 's bulkhead.

It was a few minutes before they broke the meld.

“I am pleased that you have discovered each other much earlier in life than we had. It is most fortuitous,” Selek said, a ghost of a smile and a touch of melancholy on his face. Nyota wondered if he was not, in fact, Romulan, because surely no self-respecting Vulcan would deign to so much as twitch their facial muscles for anything other than speaking or eating.

“I, too, am gratified that your paths have eventually led to each other. As humans say, it is better late than never,” Spock offered.

“I hate to break this up, but as much as you find each other fascinating, we have a Romulan ship from the future to chase down, so if Mister Spock would like to share whatever’s relevant with the rest of us…?” Jim interrupted, prompting.

Spock stood in parade rest and raised his voice so that every person on the bridge could hear him clearly. “On board Nero’s ship is a substance known as Red Matter, which, when ignited, will result in the formation of a singularity. The Red Matter is in turn contained within a ship which Selek piloted and which was captured by Nero. I suspect that Nero intends to use this highly volatile substance on Earth as well. I recommend that we spare no expense in luring Nero’s ship away from any and all inhabited worlds in the event that a confrontation ignites this substance. The blast radius of the entire payload of Red Matter is expected to be at least five thousand standard kilometres, with an effective event horizon radius of 8.914 standard astronomical unit, achieved between thirty and forty seconds after detonation. However, it will still prove difficult to escape the pull of the singularity in a standard constitution-class cruiser within a radius of 0.5 lightyears.4”

There was a brief, stunned silence before Jim leapt into action, shooting off orders with a certain swiftness and confidence that Nyota admired. “Spock, search for the largest uninhabited zone in the area around the Sol system with a radius of at least one light year, preferably two or more. Account for the maximum distance travelled by escape shuttles from Earth and make that the minimum buffer zone. Direct all suitable locations to helm.”

“Understood,” Spock said, then marched off to his station to access the ship’s databanks.

“We need to intercept the Narada before it reaches Earth. Chekov, based on telemetry, is there anything en route that will be of any use to us? Something that will render us invisible to their sensors so that we can get on board and try to disable the drill first before falling to plan B if that fails and distracting Nero from Earth? I don’t want to get to plan B because we’ll probably be killed.”

“Working on it, Sir,” Chekov shouted.

“Sulu, once Spock has sent you the coordinates and Chekov has confirmed trajectory, I need to you plot the fastest course between them and consider the manoeuvres necessary to hightail out of the Sol system and execute it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sulu said grimly.

“Scotty, did you hear that? Are our engines ready to accelerate from zero to escape velocity in time?”

“You know where to find me if you need me,” Scott declared loudly, then jumped into the turbolift without further ado with, of all things, a maniacal grin on his face. Nyota vaguely wondered if everyone on this ship was either dead or certifiably insane.

“Lieutenant Uhura, I believe our subspace communications are still offline. Is there any other way we can contact Starfleet? If not, direct as many from Communications to restore subspace communications, and don’t hesitate to request backup from Engineering and Science if needed. In your message to Starfleet, request that they prep Earth and the Mars colony for evacuation. If possible, have them begin evacuations immediately. There is no guarantee that we will be able to successfully intercept the Narada. Include whatever details you see fit to spur the brass into action.”

“Yes, Sir,” Nyota acknowledged, and began working on her consoles immediately, firing off instructions and directions to those further down the chain of command and encrypting a coded message to Starfleet. It was prudent that the Narada not know of their plan, lest they push forward their attack.

“Bones, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Prep sickbay for the worst.”

“Jim, in the worst case scenario, there _is_ no sickbay,” McCoy replied gravely.

“Then prep it for the second worst. Do whatever you can to make sure that everyone that reports to sickbay walks out faster than the injured come in. We need all the hands we have. Put away your vaccines and take out the painkillers and dermal regenerators and whatever you have that will keep as many people up and running as possible.”

McCoy barely had time to respond when Chekov exclaimed, “Keptin Jim! Keptin Jim!”

“Just Jim, Chekov. What is it?” From the sound of footsteps, Jim was walking toward the navigation console. Nyota turned around. The ensign seemed to have something very important to say.

“Based on the Narada’s course from Vulcan,” Chekov said in his excitable teenage voice, Russian accent heavy and frankly adorable, “I have projected that Nero will travel past Saturn. Like you said, we need to stay invisible to Nero or he’ll destroy us. If Mister Scott can get us to Warp Factor Four _and_ if we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn’s moons, say, Titan, the magnetic distortion from the planet’s rings will make us invisible to Nero’s sensors. From there, as long as the drill is not activated, we can beam aboard the enemy’s ship.”

“Wait a minute, kid. How old are you?” McCoy asked gruffly.

“Seventeen, Sir,” Chekov answered readily.

McCoy turned to Jim, pinning him with a disbelieving look. “Oh, oh, good. He’s seventeen.”

"How old are you?" Chekov countered slightly petulantly.

"Old enough to shave," McCoy said testily.5

“Bones,” Jim warned.

“Doctor, Mister Chekov is correct. I can confirm his telemetry,” Spock said from the science station, and since it was now in good hands, Nyota returned her attentions back to her console. “If Mister Sulu is able to manoeuvre us into position, I can beam aboard Nero’s ship, steal back the black hole device, and, if possible, bring back Captain Pike.”

Nyota turned back around so fast she thought her chair might unscrew itself. Spock was not going onto the Narada alone, was he?

“I won’t allow you to do that, Spock,” Jim disagreed, echoing Nyota’s opinion.

“Romulans and Vulcans share common ancestry; our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ships computer to locate the device,” Spock said logically. It was hard to refute such an argument.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Jim said with an air of finality.

Spock looked like he wanted very much to protest, but eventually settle for, “I believe that it is your prerogative.”

Jim beamed at the Vulcan, “A man after my own heart.”

Spock tilted his head. “That is illogical as you have greater need for your cardiac muscles than I do.”

“You know what I mean. God, you’re so precious. How did I ever get so lucky,” Jim chuckled.

“I respectfully disagree, Jim. It is I who am fortunate to have met you.”

Nyota shook her head and tried to refocus on her station. Watching the two of them occasionally felt like a physical blow to the chest—they were just so affectionate even by human standards that it hurt her to be reminded of what she had failed to become with Spock. The older Vulcan, Selek, was still standing on the bridge, and he was eyeing the command duo with badly concealed interest. Well, if Nyota found their interactions unusual, it was almost certain that other Vulcans would too, for they knew their culture and traditions better than Nyota did and could probably point out the myriad ways Spock was practically blatantly flouting cultural norms around Jim.

“Dammit, Jim,” McCoy grumbled. “You’re here to captain a ship, not flirt with your Vulcan. You can do that when we’re safe from the Romulan madman.”

Jim laughed. “Go down to sickbay, Bones. I need you to make sure that everyone that goes in is ready to go back to manning their stations in minutes.”

“Goddammit,” McCoy sighed, but headed off the sickbay as ordered, all the while muttering under his breath, “I signed up to heal the sick and injured, not send them back onto a battlefield to die! You bet your ass I’m strapping _you_ to a bed once we’re out of the woods. Mark my words. I’m going to hypo you so hard you won’t be able to walk and _then_ we’ll see who’s ordering who around. Dammit, sickbay isn’t a place where people come to be well enough again just so that they can continue getting themselves _killed_! And you, Jim! Don’t get me started on you! I just know that you’re going to be the worst repeat offender. I can feel it in my bones! And for God’s sake the kid is _seventeen_! He’s not even old enough to _shave_! I should be confining him to sickbay for that alone! Definitely lost his marbles if he’s happy to run around the universe playing cowboys with Romulans instead of getting drunk off his ass like every other normal seventeen-year-old…”

His growling Southern accent trailed off behind him, leaving the bridge filled with intense mutterings concentrated around Chekov’s navigation control as Spock and the ensign hurriedly punched out numbers like a well-oiled machine. Beside them, Jim offered his contribution of pats on backs and the occasional smart quip.

If she had time, Nyota thought, she could grow used to this being her new home, where the options were be insane or be dead. She was starting to find that Jim’s special brand of crazy was growing on her.

(And, though she’d never admit it to Jim’s face, that was some impressive leadership right there. If they made it out of this alive she’d follow Jim anywhere and would have no qualms about being assigned to the same ship as him. Of course, she had a reputation to maintain, so she'd put on a show of being reluctant.)

\---

Nyota had done all she could to restore subspace communication—rerouted the power, called for backup, called for supplies, called for whatever she could with her limited knowledge of the actual working mechanisms of the communications array. All that was left was for Engineering to respond to her requests, and, with Scott’s apparent ability to push the boundaries of engineering physics, Nyota was inclined to think that her requests would be fulfilled sooner rather than later.

Somewhere between McCoy’s departure for sickbay and now, the elder Vulcan had left the bridge, having been directed by Jim to where they were housing the Vulcans that had been rescued from their collapsing planet.

She still had many questions, starting with was Jim the Kelvin baby and ending with who the hell was that old Vulcan man. But they didn’t seem like questions that a busy Captain and First Officer were likely to answer, so she kept them to herself and filed them away in her mind. Things were starting to slow down, however, as it became apparent that Chekov and Spock had finally arrived at the necessary calculations and were inputting them into the system.

Just then, the doors to the bridge opened with their signature pneumatic hiss. A stately Vulcan entered with a woman next to him, her arm hooked around his. Nyota couldn’t tell if she was Vulcan as her hair and scarf covered her ears, but she certainly didn’t look Vulcan with the way she was smiling so broadly. However, Selek hadn’t behaved in a manner typical of Vulcans either and he definitely had the ears to show for it.

(A small part of her reminded herself that Selek may very well be Romulan, which was a train of thought she'd rather not follow as she was starting to associate the species with the destruction of Vulcan, of Jim and Spock's childhood home.)

“Sarek, Amanda!” Jim exclaimed, looking up from Chekov’s console. Nyota frowned. The names sounded familiar.

“Greetings, James. Are you in good health?” the Vulcan man—Sarek—said.

“I am in perfect health, if a little bruised,” Jim answered.

“I am gratified.”

“What Sarek means to say,” the lady, Amanda, said with a smile, “is that he is relieved that the two of you are all right. I hope you don’t mind that we came up here; we just wanted to see for ourselves.”

Next to Jim, Spock spoke up, “Mother, it is unwise to be on the bridge at this juncture. We are unable to attend to you as there is work to be done. You should return to your quarters to achieve optimum rest.”

Nyota felt a phantom pain in her chest. These were Spock’s parents. That was the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, and this was the woman whom she’d almost killed.

“I’m fine, Spock. You just left so abruptly that we were a little worried.”

“Sorry about that, Amanda,” Jim apologised sheepishly. “We had a few unexpected guests and I wanted Spock with me when I dealt with them.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Amanda said, smile sly and amused.

For absolutely no reason at all that Nyota could tell, Jim’s face heated up like a firecracker and the blush ran from the tips of his ears down to his neck. “Amanda!”

“My wife,” Sarek admonished strictly, “it is illogical to cause James emotional distress while he has a duty to perform. Indeed, every individual on this bridge has an important function, and we would be wise to avoid impeding their work.”

“I can’t argue with such flawless logic,” Amanda sighed. “Very well. Jim, Spock, you’ll definitely come visit us once your work is done, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mother,” Spock replied promptly. “However, it is difficult to determine accurately when that may be, or if, indeed, it may ever come to pass.”

“Well, at least you aren’t quoting probabilities for a change,” Jim said wryly. “That’s a lot more optimistic than I’ve seen you in a very long time.”

“On the contrary, Jim, I have neither the information nor the confidence to do so.”

“I’m sorry to cut this visit short, Sarek, Amanda, especially when you’ve made your way up here just to see us. Be assured that there will be a later,” Jim said firmly, smiling in a way that didn't really reach his eyes.

Amanda, too, smiled in response, but her eyes looked wet and her grip on her husband’s arm seemed bruising. “I’ll hold you two to that.”

Sarek inclined his head and silently offered his hand in the ta’al. They left the bridge in a whirl of Sarek’s sensible robes and his wife’s slightly less logical but no less practical dress.

She had just met Spock’s parents. Granted it wasn’t the restaurant by the sea, being introduced to the in-laws setting that she’d been hoping for, and they’d only talked to Jim and Spock, but it was still something that left her wide-eyed. If she married Spock, these people would be her in-laws, this severe Vulcan man and his smiling Human wife. From what she’d seen they seemed very kind, especially given Jim and Amanda’s emotiveness and Vulcans’ well-known aversion to expressing themselves. She was beginning to think that she could fit right in with them.

But no, Spock had a bondmate to whom he was devoted. Perhaps, if this bondmate of his had perished with Vulcan, she could offer herself as a rebound and hope that any feelings that develop would be strong enough to endure into a more permanent arrangement. She hated to be so underhand, and she hated to think that she actually wished for his bondmate’s death. She truly didn’t wish for it, but Nyota was a practical woman—opportunities didn’t often arise by themselves. One had to seize them with both hands. If there was an opening, she would go for it. Romance was something to engage in when interest and opportunity collided, so this was the time.

With that decided, she paged her department once more to check on their progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 TOS Jim was in his 30's when he became Captain. I don't think Spock Prime expected 25-year-old Jim to even be a senior officer. I don't care what AOS canon tells me about Spock Prime being surprised that AOS Spock, not Jim, was Captain.  
> 2 Having grown up among Vulcans, I think Jim would know his mental limits.  
> 3 Star Trek comics showed that Hendorff and Uhura were friends. I extrapolated a little. Or a lot.  
> 4 All figures were plucked out of thin air, except the blast radius. The Narada's roughly 10,000 km long, and the singularity's about as large as it is, so...yeah.  
> 5 In the screenplay I found online, McCoy asks, "How old are you?" Chekov answers, "I am seventeen, Sir, how old are you?" And McCoy says, "We're all old enough to shave here." I took some liberties with this exchange.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spock makes a suggestion. Jim ignores it. As expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little short, sorry. I couldn't find a good place to end it.

“All stop in three, two, one,” Sulu said, and the bridge braced to drop out of warp. “Give me one quarter impulse burst for five seconds. I’ll do the rest with the thrusters. On my mark,” he instructed.

They were in local space now, and it was possible to send transmissions to Earth with little to no delay given their proximity even with subspace communications still unavailable, so Nyota fired them off as rapidly as she could on all radio frequencies that she knew Starfleet monitored. Once she’d set the messages on loop, she leapt up from her station to catch Jim and Spock in the transporter room.

“Aye,” Chekov acknowledged, sounding somewhat nervous.

Nyota was in the corridors by the time she heard Sulu again over the intercom, “Fire.”

She held her breath as the helmsman manoeuvred them into position even as she continued running, and heaved a sigh of relief when the ship stopped without having been bombarded by torpedoes. Ahead of her, Jim and Spock walked quickly toward the transporter room, Jim’s hand for no apparent reason encircled around Spock’s wrist. She ran to catch up to them.

“Transporter room, we are in position above Titan,” Sulu alerted them from overhead.

“Uhura!” Jim said when he noticed her. Spock gave her a curt nod. They arrived at the transporter room and the doors slid open to admit them.

“Really? Fine job, Mister Sulu. Well done,” Scott said from where he was seated in front of the transporters, and he terminated the channel just as they stepped into the room.

“How are we, Scotty?” Jim immediately asked, stopping next to the transporter controls. Spock stopped beside him, and Nyota lingered behind them.

“Unbelievably sure the ship is in position,” Scott replied.

Jim pressed to connect them to the bridge. “Whatever happens, Mister Sulu, if you think that you have a tactical advantage you fire on that ship, even if we’re still on board. That’s an order.”

There was a brief moment when Nyota suspected that even the intercoms were inoperable.

Then, quiet but firm, “Yes, Sir.”

Jim gave a tiny head nod that nobody on the bridge could see. “Otherwise we’ll contact the _Enterprise_ when we’re ready to be beamed back.”

“Good luck,” Sulu offered, and the channel was terminated.

Jim and Spock moved wordlessly toward the transporter pads, Jim’s hand still around Spock’s wrist. Nyota trailed after them, feeling slightly like she was intruding. Once Jim and Spock were on separate pads with too much space between them for Jim to still make contact with Spock, Nyota stepped up to Jim and gave him a hug. “Go get him.”

He smiled a gentle, affectionate smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

To Spock, Nyota raised her hands in askance. He took a step away from her, hand blindly reaching out for Jim’s. There was a flicker of emotion—uncertainty?—in his expression. “I appreciate the sentiment, Lieutenant. However, as my shields are inadequate, physical contact would be unwise.”

Nyota didn’t point out that Spock was clinging onto Jim so hard that veins popped out of his skin. Maybe there was something special about Jim’s mind that made Vulcans want to touch him. The old Vulcan, Selek, had looked quite eager to participate in a mind meld with the acting captain earlier. At least Spock offered an excuse this time. She stepped down from the transporter pad, feeling slightly better than she did in the turbolift.

“I understand. I’ll be monitoring your frequencies,” she said. She paused, and then swiftly added in case Jim got the wrong idea about her looking out for him in particular, “ _Both_ of you.”

Jim shot her a winning smile. She rolled her eyes at him. One last banter before Jim got himself (and Spock) blown up. Her stomach knotted tightly.

Spock was now standing on the same transporter pad as Jim, and from the looks of their hands gripped around each other, they weren’t about to migrate to separate pads any time soon. Nyota saw Lieutenant Commander Scott eye their hands with eyebrows raised almost into his slightly receding hairline, and privately agreed with the sentiment.

“I apologise,” Spock muttered. “I seem to be more emotionally compromised than I anticipated. I will return to my pad.” He made a move to leave, but Jim tugged him back.

“No. It’s fine. Stay,” Jim insisted. “Scotty, beam us out.”

“Okie dokie, then” Scott said, eyes still wide. “If there’s any common sense to this ship, I should be putting you somewhere in the cargo bay; shouldn’t be a soul in sight.”

“Energise,” Jim ordered, and they were gone in a swirl of light.

\---

Communicators and transporters were inoperative.

It felt like she was doing a lot of sitting around doing nothing but waiting for something to happen lately. There wasn’t much a Communications Officer could do with communications down when they were gallivanting around the galaxy chasing vengeful future Romulans away from Earth following the warp signature Selek’s ship, piloted by Spock, left behind.

\---

“Jim you appear to have a worrying propensity for falling off surfaces: first the cliff during your ill-advised kahs-wan, followed by another cliff in Iowa, then the drill of Nero’s ship, and just now a platform, again on Nero’s ship. I must implore you to be more prudent,” Spock rambled as Nyota followed a Medical team into the transporter room.

Jim, who was supporting Captain Pike, shot Spock an exasperated glance. “You know I don’t fall off things for fun.”

“Regardless, I must insist that you exercise more caution,” Spock replied as Medical took the Captain off Jim’s shoulders and started scanning him frantically.

Jim gripped Spock’s arm as they hurried toward the bridge, Nyota following after them. “You have my word.”

“I suspect that there will be no more than a 0.251 percent increase in awareness of your own welfare, and a negligible difference in actions taken to improve said welfare, which is unsatisfactory,” Spock said. He shot a look at Nyota that seemed to hold a silent query about why she wasn’t on the bridge. Nyota averted her eyes, cheeks warming unpleasantly.

“Well, then you’re going to have to be more specific with your requests,” Jim smirked.

“I would make such an attempt, but I know you will simply ignore it.”

“Then we are in agreement,” Jim concluded.

“Hardly,” Spock said dryly.

The doors to the bridge slid open, admitting them. Nyota beat a hasty retreat to her station.

“Captain,” Chekov addressed, “the enemy’s ship is losing power. Their shields are down, Sir.”

“Hail them now,” Jim ordered.

“Aye.”

\---

Having ejected the core to escape the gravity well of the black hole, the _Enterprise_ had to limp back to the nearest Federation starbase on whatever impulse power they had left. The trip was expected to last at least a month unless they got subspace communications online to contact Starfleet with a request to be towed.

Room assignments to accommodate the _Enterprise_ ’s new Vulcan guests were hurriedly arranged by Communications to allow crewmembers working alpha shift to get some rest while beta shift took over. Crewmembers were expected to double up, and mattresses were replicated as necessary. Acting Captain Jim and First Officer Spock shared the Captain’s quarters as Captain Pike was not expected to be able to leave sickbay until arrival at a starbase. When it became clear that room assignments were difficult at best, Sarek persuaded the crew to convert the rooms of the ambassadorial suite that he’d been originally assigned to into separate sleeping enclaves for families. The ambassador and his wife moved into the First Officer’s quarters instead.

Most of the crew with even minimal qualifications—mostly from Science—were directed to Engineering for repairs and maintenance. Communications busied itself by distributing universal translators to the Vulcans that did not speak Standard or ensuring that they were paired with one that did. Casualties and injuries were being accounted for by Medical, which forwarded their reports hourly to the Command crew to draw up a duty roster.

Nyota collapsed on the bed of the Chief Communications Officer’s quarters alone immediately after her shift and woke to the sound of familiar snoring echoing around the room. Gaila was sprawled out on a mattress on the floor beside the bed, arms thrown over the edge of the bedding in her sleep. Nyota smiled tiredly and padded over silently to the bathroom that she shared with whomever occupied the Chief Science Officer’s quarters.

Once her ablutions were completed and her hair neatly secured in a high tail, she pulled her uniform from the closet. She’d spent all of yesterday in her cadet’s uniform because there hadn’t been time to change. This was her first time putting it on.

She smoothed her hands over the fabric of the dress, marvelling at how much lighter and thinner it was compared to the bulky cadet’s jacket. Looking at herself in the mirror, Nyota felt her lips quirk into a small smile. This was her now, an officer aboard a starship. The head of a department. Granted, it was a field promotion and there was no way to tell how long it would last, but she knew that she’d achieved this through effort and dedication, through intellect and ability. She deserved her moment of pride in this time of grief.

With one last glance into the mirror, she tugged her uniform into place and left for the mess. She placed a standard breakfast order from the replicator and, looking around, spotted Jim and Spock at a table next to the windows. Nyota neatly navigated around a crack in the floor where several live wires sparked dangerously, a hazard that will no doubt be rectified quickly.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she greeted. “May I?”

“Sure, of course,” Jim said, gesturing at the seat beside him. Nyota ignored him and took the one next to Spock. Jim gave her a bewildered look.

“Lieutenant,” Spock acknowledged with a perfunctory glance in her direction, then turned back to Jim. Nyota felt an inexplicable twinge in her chest. “Have you approved the duty rosters for the rest of the week?”

“I haven’t gotten Medical’s complete report yet so I don’t know who’s available and when. You know Bones—he likes to hold his patients hostage for as long as he can. I have to go down there and make him release those with only bruises myself otherwise they’ll continue being subjected to his strict regimen and diet until they start growing abs that have abs.”

“Are you certain that you are not suffering from a concussion, Jim? Your metaphors are becoming alarmingly unusual.”

Jim laughed. “You know I’m not.”

“Sometimes I worry that early long-term exposure to cosmic radiation as an infant may have slow-acting consequences for you.” Spock cocked his head. “Your mother once expressed a similar sentiment, as did Doctor McCoy.”

“Isn’t worrying illogical, Spock?” Jim asked, smiling.

“I have accepted the fact that there is little to do with you that is entirely logical. It is therefore only logical to act illogically around you.”

“What a paradox.”

“Indeed,” Spock intoned, and Nyota had the feeling that there was more to their conversation that she wasn’t aware of or privy to, like Jim and Spock communicated in a secret language that only made use of their eyes. There could be no other explanation for how much they stared at each other.

“So, Lulu, how’s the role of Chief Communications Officer treating you?” Jim asked her suddenly.

Nyota collected herself. Finally, she said, “It’s hectic.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say because Jim frowned, brows dipping and lips curling downward. “Are you okay? Should I assign someone with greater seniority to take over while you acclimate to your new position? I mean, you were just a cadet only yesterday, and this is your first tour of duty.”

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much,” Nyota huffed, shortly. Then she deflated when she saw Jim’s eyes dart away from her and to his lap for a brief moment, his shoulders slouching. “It’s just, yesterday was very harrowing. All of us were just thrown together onto a ship without prior experience, and, let’s be honest, facing off a future Romulan is nobody’s idea of an ideal orientation.”

“I understand. If it weren’t for Spock yesterday’s paperwork will still be today’s, and then tomorrow’s, and then next week’s,” Jim joked, and Nyota shared a short laugh with him, but it did nothing to distract her from the dark bags under his eyes and the too-wide pull of his smile. Vulcan had been his home for some time too, Nyota reminded herself. He must’ve had friends on Vulcan that likely didn’t make it out.

“I do not understand how this is humorous.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not actually funny. It’s the delivery, not the words, that matter. Also, it’s hyperbolic,” Jim assured him, reaching across the table to lay a hand on his shoulder. Nyota privately thought that it lingered a little too long to be completely platonic.

“I am aware of the hyperbole. You are not so incompetent as to be unable to finish yesterday’s requisite paperwork. Furthermore, you neither enlisted my help nor appeared to require it.”

“Spock.”

“Jim.”

“Spock.”

“I do not understand why you insist on saying my name, Jim.”

“Maybe I just like the sound of it,” Jim smiled. “It rhymes with—,” Jim paused when Spock gave him a sharp look that was probably the Vulcan equivalent of a glare. “—spacedock,” Jim finished gleefully.

Spock tilted his head. “You do not need to state the obvious, Captain.”

Jim stared at Spock incredulously. “Did you just make a bad Captain Obvious joke?”

“Vulcans do not joke.”

Jim shook his head, shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m such a terrible influence on you. Your mother would be so proud.”

“As I understand it, she is already very proud of you, Jim.”

“Thanks, Spock,” Jim grinned. “Where are Sarek and Amanda anyway?”

“As one of those who survived with most of his closest bonds intact, Father is in medical bay functioning as a stabilising influence on other Vulcans whose mating bonds have been broken. Mother is serving as a translator for him as Leonard has vocally expressed a deep, personal, and intense distrust of the universal translator with regards to medical terminology.”

“I’ll check on them during my break. I think it’s about time I reported for duty. Lieutenant, Commander,” Jim said, nodding to each of them, and then stood to leave the table, taking his tray of half-eaten breakfast with him.

“Are you all right, Spock?” Nyota asked once Jim left the mess.

“I am adequate.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Spock looked at her, and she noticed how the skin around his eyes was pulled tight, how his pallor was even paler than usual. For the first time in twenty-four hours, when he spoke, he did not sound reproachful. “I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant. However, there is no action you may take that will improve my condition. As you are well aware that the _Enterprise_ is essentially stranded in space, I merely ask that you attend to your duties efficiently.”

Nyota smiled at him. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“Indeed.”

They did not speak as they finished their breakfast, but it was comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell by now, I'm not fond of cliffhangers. Most chapters will end without giving you a clue as to where the next is going to start. I hope this is okay. I have some difficulty reading in progress fics--I simply cannot stand the suspense--so I'm rather at a loss for how to actually end my chapters properly while being a total tease about what is to come.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which mothers know everything. Everybody knows everything, actually, except Nyota. She's not pleased.

Nyota had a couple of hours left before her shift started. Spock had headed off to the labs to study the readings they’d gotten off the lighting storm because apparently that’s what Vulcans did in their free time. Only authorised personnel were allowed into sickbay now that it was full of telepathically-sensitive Vulcans and injured crewmen, so she couldn’t pay Captain Pike a visit. In the end, she took a detour to the observation lounge1 that had housed the bulk of the Vulcan refugees until they finally got room assignments sorted, intending to spend some time in solitude before reporting for duty.

She did not anticipate that there would be anybody as most of the crew was either sleeping their exhaustion off or caught up with repairs (she tried not to think too hard about those who were in sickbay, nor the cold bodies in the stasis room) and the Vulcans were likely meditating, so she was surprised to discover someone gazing out into space against a backdrop of slowly shifting stars.

If there was one upside to travelling on impulse power, it was the magnificent view.

She padded softly over to the observer, who had a scarf draped over their head and wore a very familiar-looking outfit.

“Mrs. Sarek?” Nyota asked quietly as she came to a rest beside the person.

“Miss Uhura,” Amanda said, turning to smile gently at her, wrinkles creasing at the corners of her eyes. “I have heard much about you from Jim.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh, yes. Very good,” Amanda replied with good humour. “He made you sound like a fascinating biological specimen; said you’re the first human that reminded him of Vulcans despite how emotional you get sometimes.”

Nyota couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled forth. “It sometimes still amazes me to be reminded that Jim actually graduated from Starfleet on a double accelerated course. He certainly doesn’t look the part.”

“Spock would say that it is illogical to form expectations of a person’s academic abilities based on their physical appearance or, indeed, species,” Amanda quoted apparently verbatim, voice adopting a toneless quality. She then broke character, chuckling, “I’ve lost track of how many times he’s admonished his peers for looking down on Jim. It’s almost adorable how protective he is.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends, but neither of them have been forthcoming about the details of growing up knowing each other. I wonder how Jim found himself on Vulcan in the first place,” Nyota mused, eyes tracking a distant red star. “Was he sent there for being too naughty?”

Amanda’s laugh echoed around the empty room, a sudden bright burst of sound where there was previously just oppressive silence. “No, no. Jim was perfectly well-behaved, if a little too enthusiastic about everything. They actually met when I brought Spock to Earth before his betrothal ceremony—you know about them, don’t you?”

“I do, but it seems like a rather archaic practice for such an advanced species.”

The older woman sighed, staring out into the distance. “I thought the same as well, but there are some practical concerns that can only be efficiently addressed by arranged marriages, so I relented and allowed Sarek to choose a wife for Spock. Her name was T’Pring, a beautiful young girl whose intellect I had no doubt Spock would find interesting. But as a human mother, I wanted Spock to have a responsive partner, so I managed to negotiate a little caveat with Sarek. I made sure that Spock would be free to break the bond if he found a partner more suited for him.

“It was the first time we made the decision to favour one half of his heritage over the other. Sarek understood how upset I was, which was why he allowed us to accompany him on his last ambassadorial trip to Earth before the bonding ceremony so I could share my culture with him to even out the odds, so to speak.”

“I suppose this is where Jim comes in,” Nyota guessed.

“Yes,” Amanda confirmed, nostalgic. “He ran up to Spock while we were disembarking from our shuttle, asked him if he was Vulcan, and proceeded to grab Spock’s ears. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my son as flustered as he was back then!”

“He must’ve been one hell of charmer if you decided to let Spock continue interacting with him.”

“You could say that. Or you could also say that Jim took a shine to Spock and would just follow him around everywhere until his mother came looking for him.”

“How did he end up on Vulcan?”

Amanda’s expression darkened. “Let’s just say that his mother was off-planet too often and his stepfather wasn’t the best caregiver around. To her credit, Commodore Kirk hadn’t been aware.”

“Commodore Kirk?”

“Jim’s mother,” Amanda clarified.

Nyota’s eyebrows shot up. “Kirk? As in James Tiberius Kirk, son of George Samuel Kirk of the USS _Kelvin_?” So the old Vulcan hadn’t been out of his mind?

“You didn’t know?” Amanda asked, sounding honestly surprised.

Nyota suppressed a scowl. “He just kept telling all of us at the Academy that his last name’s too hard to pronounce.”

“Well he’s not wrong,” Amanda conceded. “He got himself a double-barrelled name the moment he legally became part of the clan. He actually favours the clan name, which still ruins my throat to say and I’ve lived on Vulcan for the last thirty years, so you won’t hear him using Kirk much. He likes it better when no one expects anything of him for being George Kirk’s son.”

Nyota’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think he has to worry about _expectations_ , considering that he’s probably blown them all out of the water. And he could’ve told me. I’ve been studying Vulcan for the last three and a half years; I can probably manage it now,” Nyota groused. Leave it to Jim to get himself adopted by Vulcans without telling anybody.

“He tends to forget things sometimes,” Amanda smiled exasperatedly. “Spock had to force food down his throat when he was studying for the Vulcan Science Academy’s entrance exams because he’d conveniently forgotten that humans need food to survive.”

“I should be surprised but I’m really not,” Nyota said wryly. “So you raised them as brothers? That’d explain why their concept of personal space doesn’t exactly match up with other people’s.”

“I don’t think raising them as brothers had anything to do with it,” Amanda said, eyes dancing with mirth. “It’s always been a Spock-and-Jim thing.”

“I was beginning to get that impression,” Nyota admitted. “You said that Jim studied for the VSA’s entrance exam. He passed, didn’t he?”

“With flying colours. We were so proud, even Sarek—but don’t tell him I told you that,” Amanda whispered, as if entrusting Nyota with a great secret.

Nyota grinned. “Not a word. But that does explain how he managed to graduate from the Academy in three years even though he was simultaneously pursuing Command and Science tracks. Sometimes I wish he’d show more of that intelligence in day to day conversation.”

“That’s Jim for you, always trying to outdo Spock but not wanting to look like a total nerd. Did he tell you how he tried to accelerate through his VSA courses as well?”

“No,” Nyota answered, intrigued and willing to let a mother who was clearly overwhelmingly proud brag about her (adopted) son a little, if only to take the edge off how said (adopted) son nearly died no fewer than twice the previous day. “But by all means, please tell me more.”

“He’s a smart boy, Jim, but the VSA’s curriculum was constructed for Vulcans, so there was only so much he could test out of. He graduated one semester early, in the end, but it’s still impressive since he was at least a whole two years younger than the rest of his cohort.”

“Two years?” Nyota asked.

“Jim tried to catch up to Spock during pre-tertiary education but never quite made it since Spock was also breezing through the curriculum. I’m so proud of my boys, but it’s hard raising two geniuses, especially if they’re smart even by Vulcan standards. You should’ve heard them literally discussing rocket science at the dinner table,” Amanda shook her head, lips curved upwards gently. “I stopped being able to help Jim with his schoolwork when he was eight. _Eight_!”

“He sounds like the perfect chick flick protagonist from the 20th century.”

Amanda nodded. “And he fits the part exactly. Blond hair, blue eyes, charming personality, and a brain to back it up; sometimes I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t know how he—how _we_ —got so lucky.”

“I heard he has a short temper,” Nyota offered, shrugging. “He punched a Vulcan, didn’t he?”

“That’s not the worst of it. He also drove his father’s antique car off a cliff when he went back to visit his mother on Earth and nearly drove himself off with it.”

Nyota’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“I was so frightened when I got the call, and Spock talked his ear off about looking out for himself but as you can see it hasn’t made a difference. He still has to be the hero,” Amanda said, vaguely referencing Jim’s daredevil stunts from yesterday.

“He must’ve given you and Spock so many heart attacks,” Nyota commiserated.

“You have no idea.”

The doors to the observation lounge hissed open quietly and a regal backlit figure stepped into the room. As the doors slid shut and the room was plunged into near darkness again, Nyota recognised the features of Spock’s father, Ambassador Sarek.

“My wife, you have not slept since the events of yesterday. I recommend retiring to our quarters to achieve optimum rest,” the ambassador said as he approached them, coming to a stop on Amanda’s other side. Nyota saw them briefly graze their fingers across each other’s and looked away hastily. It felt intimate, somehow, like it was something she shouldn’t have seen.

“Sarek, this is Miss Uhura. You’ve heard about her from Jim,” Amanda introduced.

“Indeed,” Sarek said, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “I believe that we have you to thank for translating the message that enabled Captain Pike to take appropriate action. Lieutenant, you have my gratitude and those of my people as well.”

Nyota felt her cheeks warm slightly. “It was nothing. Jim was the one who connected the dots.”

“Nevertheless, you were instrumental to Captain Pike’s decision to raise the shields, which enabled this ship to eventually receive Vulcan refugees who would no doubt find difficulty sustaining long-term travel toward a starbase in a shuttle. It is only logical that we offer our gratitude to you.”

Amanda laid a hand on Nyota’s shoulder, smiling in a way that was longsuffering. “Just accept it. He won’t back down until you do.”

Sarek sent a piercing look in the direction of his wife as if in reproach, but Amanda ignored it. Nyota eyed the two of them before finally acceding, “You’re welcome.”

The ambassador gave a nod that seemed to practically radiate my-job-is-done-for-the-day vibes (which was illogical, so Nyota chalked it up to a figment of her over-fatigued mind). “My wife, shall we? You require rest.”

“How can I deny your irresistible charm?” Amanda teased, but looped her arm around Sarek’s proffered one regardless. Then, to Nyota, she said, “We’ll see you around?”

“Of course.”

Once they were gone, Nyota sunk to the ground and curled her legs up so that she could wrap her arms around them.

So her name was T’Pring. Spock’s mother sounded certain that they would be highly compatible intellectually, but also voiced concerns that their relationship may not be so good for Spock’s emotional health. From what Nyota had seen of Spock, it didn’t look like emotional satisfaction was going to play a large part in Spock’s decision to take a mate—Jim was doing a good enough job of being emotional for two people anyway and would surely balance out Spock’s Vulcan bondmate without difficulty.

She was smart—that much she knew—but it was a whole other ballpark to be able to compete with Vulcans the same way _James Tiberius bloody Kirk_ could. Did Gaila know about this too? It felt like she was always the last to know about these things. Of course, she spent most of her time becoming proficient in a dozen different alien languages, but surely Jim could find the time to tell her something as important as this.

Nyota rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes.

She’d thought that she’d come to terms with the prospect of never being more than a friend to Spock, but with the destruction of Vulcan and a name to go by, she could easily look T’Pring up in the list of Vulcan survivors. The very thought that she now had a fighting chance reared its ugly head. She could not let Spock affect her work more than he already did. As it was—and they were just friends—she’d left her station multiple times to ensure his wellbeing over the course of yesterday’s crisis. A relationship would be a terrible idea especially if even a crisis on a planetary scale couldn’t keep her at her station.

But the flutter of hope in her chest told her that she could overcome it, that she had it in her to be the professional she knew she could be. If Spock could fulfil his function as First Officer admirably while being burdened with the destruction of his home planet, then she could definitely deal with a crush on him without letting it ruin her work ethic. She owed it to herself and no one else to be the best that she could be, and reminded herself that duty came before everything else.

She watched the stars shift past her, mind furiously forming career plans now that her promotion to bridge officer had been expedited by a magnitude of years. Duty first, she told herself, and love second.

\---

The bridge was quiet, almost solemn, when she stepped onto it. There was minimal crew working at the consoles, most of them having been diverted to maintenance and repair. Sulu was in the captain’s chair, while an ensign had taken over his place at the helm.

“Where is the Captain?” Nyota asked. “I thought he’s on duty.”

“Kirk? He’s in Engineering with Scotty,” Sulu replied, swivelling the chair around to face her. “He wanted the junior crewmen to get as much experience as possible while there’s nothing urgent so most of the more senior crewmembers are being told to rest or work repairs. Apparently, Commander Spock had advised him to turn this unexpected setback into a training cruise.”

“That’s very efficient of him,” Nyota muttered. She nodded to the ensign at the communications station to relieve him, then took her seat. “How are repairs going?”

“Right on schedule. Subspace communications should be available once Engineering manages to replicate the parts they need to fix the array.” Sulu paused. “You’re having Starfleet tow us out of this no-man’s space the moment we can establish contact, right?”

“Already configured it to be automated,” Nyota told him, self-satisfied. “It’s the first message we’ll be sending out.”

“Thank God,” Sulu grinned, cheeks bunching up and eyes disappearing into dark crescent slits. “After all this drama, I think I speak for all of us on the _Enterprise_ when I say we’ll be glad to set foot upon glorious, solid ground again.”

Nyota thought of a certain Scotsman’s wildly unrestrained—and wildly inappropriate, considering the circumstances—glee when he ran off the bridge to Engineering, and said, “Well, except for Mister Scott.”

“He’s not human, I tell you. I think he lives off engine fuel.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Nyota agreed, chuckling, and turned to her console to begin her first day of sort-of-routine duty on board the USS _Enterprise_. She was going to do her duty right the second time round.

\---

Nyota’s replacement came just on time. It was with some reluctance that she left her station now that she didn’t have to worry about being blasted to smithereens by Romulans and was starting to truly feel the excitement of being a proper bridge officer. She had thoroughly examined the station and been delighted to find that the _Enterprise_ had the most comprehensive set of operations that she’d ever seen on a single communications console. In fact, the station was so wide and expansive that she had half a mind to assign an assistant Communications personnel to the bridge just so that all buttons were within easy reach of somebody.

To the right of communications was the science station, at which Spock would complete his duties if they were on an actual mission instead of hauling a sparking and groaning starship pregnant with Vulcans back to starbase. She wondered if this meant that she could trade the occasional quip with him during downtime if they were to work the same shift. At the very least, she could enjoy his quiet company on a bridge full of people she barely knew.

The ensign that relieved her looked barely old enough to drink. She had the sort of naiveté that was cultivated by overprotective parents and an excellent academic record, but it was nothing that couldn’t be cured by a year or two in the deep blackness of space.

“Ensign…?”

“Martine, Sir,” the ensign replied.

“Ensign Martine,” Nyota said, trying for a warm smile and succeeding if the way the ensign’s shoulders lost a little of their tension was any reliable indication. “Relax, you’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Martine said, then took her seat and started synchronising the console with her own earpiece.

Sulu was still briefing his relief—another ensign, because the ship was staffed largely by hastily promoted cadets—when Nyota stepped into the turbolift to head down to the mess to grab a meal. She was accosted on the way to the mess by Gaila, whose red curls were pulled neatly away from her face in a messy tail. There were grease stains all over her face, but Nyota didn’t have the heart to point them out.

“Nyota!” Gaila called out, eyes slightly bloodshot.

“Gaila,” Nyota said, pulling her friend into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Gaila’s arms came around her to crush her ribs in a bruising embrace. “Yeah. I heard that we wouldn’t be here without you.”

Nyota pulled back, and they started to walk again. “Why is everybody so keen on pointing that out?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s true?” Gaila said, raising her eyebrows.

Nyota sighed. “It could easily have been anybody else.”

“Maybe,” Gaila conceded, shrugging. “But the fact remains that it was you who translated the message, and it was you who told Jim. Oh, and congrats on becoming Chief Communications Officer! I’m so proud of you!”

“I don’t think that’s something _you_ ought to be proud of. Focus on your duties, Miss Vro, and maybe you’ll be Chief Engineer,” Nyota teased.

“I don’t want to be. Mister Scott’s a mad genius. Besides, my specialty is coding, so I’d be put to better use reprogramming replicators than fixing warp cores,” Gaila shrugged. “How’s Jim? Is he doing okay?”

“He wasn’t on the bridge today, but I saw him at breakfast. He was fine, if a little worn out.”

“Poor Jim. He’s lived on Vulcan longer than on Earth. Did you know that?”

“I did, but no thanks to _somebody_ ,” Nyota said, pointedly glaring at Gaila, who promptly averted her gaze but continued grinning cheekily “who didn’t see fit to tell me that Jim and George Kirk’s son are one and the same, or that Spock’s parents practically adopted him.”

“I like to know stuff that you don't, sometimes,” Gaila laughed.

“Clearly,” Nyota sniffed. “Join me in the mess? Let’s catch up. Undoubtedly, much has happened in the last 24 hours and I want you to tell me everything down to the very last detail.”

Gaila grinned, and it felt like they were back in the Academy and laughing about Jim’s latest misstep. “With pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 So you know the place where people go to watch the stars? The observation deck? Well, wiki tells me that it's actually called the observation _lounge_. The observation deck is where you go to watch shuttles take off from the shuttle bay.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which what happens in Engineering stay in Engineering. (Mostly because nobody leaves in any state to talk.)

Nyota descended to the bowels of the ship after leaving the mess to check up on Engineering’s progress with her communications array. The engineering deck was practically overrun with crewmembers carting tools around and being suspended from harnesses to get at the parts that were particularly hard to reach from the ground. Where the cores used to be were large yawning holes carefully cordoned off by bright yellow safety tapes and what few officers Security could spare. At the very back, the industrial-sized replicator stood like an imposing statue overlooking the utter chaos around it.

“Mister Scott?” Nyota called as she approached the replicator. Like many other things on the ship, it was barely serviceable—its panels had been stripped for rewiring and replacement of circuit boards, and its control consoles flashed intermittently with reports as the machine was put through test after test to ensure that the repairs that harried and tired crewmembers carried out weren’t more destructive than constructive.

“Uhura! What can I do for you?” a muffled voice said, seeming to come from the pair of legs that stuck out from under the base of the replicator.

Nyota paused to place the familiar tenor. “Jim?”

The legs slowly dragged themselves out from underneath the machinery to reveal Jim, sweaty and grime-covered and dressed in Engineering red. There were no bars on his sleeve, and it would be all too easy to mistake him for an ensign. He lay on the ground, panting for a few long seconds, before pushing himself up into a sitting position, spanner clenched in one hand. “Hey.”

“What are you doing down here?”

“I know a thing or two about machines,” Jim shrugged. “Been learning from Scotty while teaching at the Academy until he got himself booted to Delta Vega.” Ah. That might explain why Jim was always late to Spock’s lectures, since Engineering was on the other side of the campus from Communications as they share so few facilities.

“That’s not what I meant. Your shift should’ve been over hours ago,” Nyota said, cocking her head. “Why aren’t you resting?”

Jim gave the replicator a fond pat. “I’m not that tired. Besides, the sooner we get this working the sooner we can have communications back up, and the sooner we all get back to Earth so that half of this ship can graduate.”

“Does Spock know you’re here?” Nyota asked. She can’t imagine Spock letting his best friend run himself to the ground when they should both be recuperating from their tragic loss.

“Yeah. I can’t keep secrets from him,” Jim said, tapping his head with the spanner. “It’s not like he can talk, though. He’s also somewhere around here giving crash courses in Engineering 101.” He waved the spanner around absently in a way that made Nyota want to grab it out of his hands before he sent it flying into some poor sod’s head.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“You sure you don’t want to catch some shut eye?”

“Please, you’re not the only one that wants communications back online,” Nyota huffed, gesturing at herself as if to say, ‘Hello, Communications Officer here.’

Jim gave her a wry smile, then tugged free a sheet from under a toolbox. “Well, in that case you can start familiarising yourself with these blueprints. It’s just another type of language, after all. Once you’re done you’re welcome to pick up a soldering iron and join us in our quest to wire this baby up correctly.”

“You’re talking to someone who can speak eleven human and nine alien languages, not including dialects, and curse in more than a hundred. I think I’m up to figuring out a couple of diagrams,” Nyota smirked at him, and Jim gave her a blinding smile.

“Well, Lieutenant, you’d best hop to it now. I can see Scotty coming and he’ll kick you out without a second’s thought if he thinks you’re not making yourself useful,” Jim grinned, then pushed himself back under the replicator to continue whatever he was doing before. Suddenly, Jim spoke again, “And there are jumpsuits in the cabinet to your right, if you want to change out of your uniform.”

Nyota looked at her dress, and then cast her gaze around at the crewmembers running around in much more practical ensembles. Sighing, she stalked off toward the cabinet Jim had indicated. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of sensible trousers like the rest of the men had. And rank insignia. There was no reason why the uniforms of female crewmembers didn’t have some way to display rank. Maybe she’d put in a petition herself.

\---

It was well into gamma shift when Nyota’s eyes started spending more time close than open. She decided that this was as good an indication as any that it was time to head back to bed to catch a couple hours of sleep before she had to be back on the bridge for alpha shift. Untying the sleeves of the jumpsuit from around her waist, she stepped out of it and hung it back up in the cabinet, smoothing her hands over the wrinkles of her uniform dress that she’d opted to wear under it. It would’ve been too much hassle to find a changing room.

The engineering deck didn’t look like it was ceasing its activity any time soon. It was just as crowded and chaotic as when she arrived. As she gave the replicator one last look to ensure that she hadn’t left anything dangerous lying around, she spotted Spock talking to a pair of legs perched on a ladder, body disappearing into the upper surface of the replicator where a panel had been removed.

“Jim, you are exhausted and require rest. Please return to our quarters at once,” Spock said, hands gripping the ladder as if it would fall over and take Jim with it if he let go.

“I told you I can’t. You know how it is. I can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Jim’s voice echoed from the hole.

“I will not allow you to exert yourself beyond reason. Jim, desist and descend from the ladder at once or I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be meditating or something?” Jim grumbled, disgruntled. “Stop bothering me. I’ll sleep when I feel like it.”

“Jim. You are well aware that your presence has a positive influence on my ability to mediate successfully, especially in such trying circumstances. It would be beneficial for the both of us if you were to retire to our quarters immediately. Furthermore, Mother would not approve of your reckless disregard for your health.”

There was a pause. Then a sigh. “You’re not playing fair, Spock.”

“Nor do I intend to, as my primary concern at the moment is your wellbeing,” Spock informed the legs evenly.

“All right, fine,” Jim finally conceded, sounding incredibly put-upon. “But you’re not allowed to complain if I distract you with my fidgeting.”

“I do not complain,” Spock merely said. He caught Nyota in the periphery of his field of vision. “Lieutenant Uhura. You too should be resting. You shift will begin in 4.23 hours.”

“I don’t think I can sleep with so much that needs to be done,” Nyota told him despite the fact that her lids were slipping over her eyes. She yawned as Jim started descending the ladder, a tool bag held securely under one arm. “I’m about to head back anyway. I can barely remain vertical as it is.”

At that moment, Jim hopped down the last few rungs, earning a disapproving look from Spock, whose hands shot out when Jim wobbled unsteadily as he landed. He shrugged. “He’s a worrywart,” Jim said, pointing a thumb at Spock. “There’s nothing more satisfying to him than berating his illogical human for being too illogically human.”

“I wasn’t aware that you belonged to him,” Nyota said slowly, blinking sluggishly and cutting off the start of another yawn.

“What can I say, Vulcans are territorial,” Jim smiled wearily, which only served to make the bags under his eyes all the more obvious. “They like to take care of their own.”

“I will not deny this if it will convince you to rest,” Spock said.

“Fat chance,” Jim retorted, even as he sagged a little against Spock’s side, looping an arm around his waist to keep himself steady. By this point, Nyota was so far gone that everything around her became a blurry mess of colour, and she only vaguely registered that Jim had been speaking, his words a jumbled sound in her ears.

When the urge to yawn came again, she didn’t resist. “As much as I like to hear you argue, I really need to find a horizontal surface to lie on that’s not the floor of the engineering deck. See you tomorrow?”

Everything after that was a hazy memory. She distantly recalled that they’d escorted her back to her room, at which point Gaila took over, rubbing her eyes blearily but nevertheless managing to carry her half-asleep roommate to bed before collapsing on her own mattress.

\---

Nyota woke up to the shrill ringing of her alarm. On the bed beside her, Gaila groaned, “Turn that thing off.”

Ignoring her, Nyota gingerly got out of bed to begin the tedious task of making herself look presentable after only four hours of sleep. When she returned from the bathroom, she nudged Gaila’s leg with her foot, “If you’re on alpha shift you need to be up and ready in fifteen minutes.”

Gaila gave an aggrieved moan, “What’s a girl gotta do to get some rest around here?”

“If I can do a double shift and still wake up on time, I’m sure you can too,” Nyota said dryly.

“Yes, but you’re the same crazy that’s infected Mister Scott. You actually _like_ being on duty,” Gaila bemoaned, face buried in her pillow.

“Come now, you’re a Starfleet officer on a Federation starship. You’re never really off duty. Get up,” Nyota said, nudging the Orion again.

“You’re the worst best friend ever,” Gaila grumbled, then reluctantly pushed her blankets away.

“Says the one who never tells me anything about a certain mutual friend of ours and lets me assume all the wrong things,” Nyota muttered under her breath.

“Why’d you want to know anyway?” Gaila asked, suddenly alert and sly with a grin spreading across her face. “Ooh, don’t tell me you _like_ him. I knew you’d eventually give in! Just admit it—you can’t resist Jim’s charming personality!”

“God, no!” Nyota denied immediately. “What makes you think that? Jim’s nice and all but he’s really not my type.”

Gaila shrugged. “Well, that’s good, because I’d hate to tell you that he’s not interested in you for the gazillionth time.”

“Which is the way I like it. Now get your lazy green butt off that mattress,” Nyota said, nudging Gaila again.

“Wait till I tell Jim how you’re mistreating me,” Gaila whined. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to assign you more work so you won’t have time to nag at me.”

“I assure you that I’m already volunteering to pick up whatever slack’s available to be picked up,” Nyota informed her. With her duties as a friend concluded, she headed out of the room for the bridge.

\---

Nyota was pleasantly surprised that her inbox was full of requests from her department to be assigned double shifts in Engineering. Apparently, somebody had seen her sweating it out at the replicator and wanted to help, and this had snowballed until most of the department was volunteering themselves for double duty. She would have to cross-reference with McCoy’s list of ‘regular duty’ and ‘light duty’ personnel before submitting timetabling changes to Jim or Spock for approval, but this extra work only served to make her more cheerful.

She was responsible for a whole _department_. Every single Communications personnel on board reported to her, and they were taking her seriously as a role model, which was rather surreal as just a couple of days ago she was just a cadet like most of them.

“Uhura to the Captain,” she said, putting herself in touch with Jim.

“Jim here.” She could hear Scott rambling in the background with his signature accent.

“May I assign some of my department double shifts? They’re volunteering.”

“Sure, why not? But only if Bones gives them the green light. Oh! And while you’re at it, could you let the other department heads know that I’m allowing them to authorise double shifts for any volunteers at their discretion, so long as they check with Medical first? Have all the revised timetables forwarded to my PADD for approval. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll see you down in Engineering later?”

“Of course. You know where the jumpsuits are. Jim out.”

She got to work relaying Jim’s message to the other departments and coordinating timetables immediately. It was mind-numbing but ultimately fulfilling work. She didn’t know how long field commissions lasted—for all she knew she could be knocked back down the pecking order the moment they docked back at Earth—but she was determined to make this month spent drifting in space count. Maybe, if she showed what she was capable of, there was a chance that she could retain her position after receiving her official commission.

It was a long shot but it would be worth it in the end.

\---

She found Jim at the replicator again. It looked much worse than it did the day before, but that could just be due to the fact that there were more hands prying open its panels and working on fixing it to speed up the whole process. From the way crewmember kept approaching Jim before heading off to different sections of the replicator, she assumed that Mister Scott had left him in charge of the repairs.

“James T. Kirk,” Nyota said as she walked toward him, hands on her hips. She’d chosen a time when there was nobody in the direct vicinity, since she guessed that he was still uncomfortable being acknowledged by his birth name.

Jim startled, looking up from the schematics. “What?”

“You know, this is the sort of things you tell your friends,” Nyota told him. “So, what have we got today? What can I do?”

“How did you—”

“I had a chat with your _adoptive mother_ yesterday. For someone who’s so expressive, you have a lot of secrets. I expected that from Spock, not you.”

“I kind of figured that maybe Gaila’d run her mouth off before I get the chance to say anything?” Jim said with an uncertain, questioning lilt. He shuffled his feet. “The topic never really came up, anyway, so there wasn't really a time to tell you.”

“Just like there wasn’t any time to tell me about your graduation from the Academy, or from the VSA, right?”

“Oh my god,” Jim muttered, covering his face with his hands. She could see his ears turn bright red from where they peeked out through his fingers. “Is there _anything_ you and Amanda haven’t talked about? Do I have any dignity left?”

“I don’t know,” Nyota said innocently. “I also heard that you grabbed Spock’s ears when you first saw him.”

Jim gave a loud groan, burying his face into his schematics. “See. This, _this_ , is what I wanted to avoid. I don’t suppose you’ll stop fishing for gossip from Amanda now.”

“Not a chance,” Nyota grinned. “But seriously. If you shared Spock’s clan’s name, I think I can manage your surname. Which is it? Kirk-S’chn T’gai, or S’chn T’gai-Kirk?”

“The second one—I thought it sounded better,” Jim said, slowly emerging from his embarrassment. His face was still so red that his smattering of freckles blended seamlessly with the dark flush, and he was looking at everything except her.

“Captain S’chn T’gai-Kirk,” Nyota muttered. “It’s got a ring to it. Am I allowed to use it?”

“It’s probably best if you just stick with Jim. You’ll only confuse everybody else. Spock only uses his given name and nobody’s complaining,” Jim shrugged.

“That’s true,” Nyota conceded.

“Anyway,” Jim said hastily, shoving a rolled up sheet into her hands, “here’s what you’re going to be doing today.”

It was such a terrible attempt at redirection that Nyota actually laughed. “Jim,” she said, smiling, “relax. Mrs. Sarek didn’t have any embarrassing baby pictures on her.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Nyota heard Jim mutter under his breath. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh? Who’s seen your embarrassing baby pictures, then?” Nyota teased.

“OKAY! We’re done here! Go, shoo, there’s a panel with your name on it,” Jim shouted, flustered, and pushed her toward the back of the replicator. Around them, crewmembers looked up from their work to stare at them for a second or two, no doubt intrigued by their Acting Captain’s impossibly red face.

“Was it Gaila? I bet it was Gaila,” Nyota continue gleefully.

“Nope, it wasn’t Gaila,” Jim denied quickly. Too quickly, Nyota noted. She mentally reminded herself to ask Gaila about Jim’s childhood later. It was bound to be a wild ride.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which peace and quiet is had. Some people meditate, others wait until they faint from exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly, honestly don't know how long this story is going to be. I keep digging myself deeper and deeper into the plot. I can't help jumping at any and all possible ways I can potentially complicate the plot--it's such a terrible habit. At the rate I'm doing this I'm never finishing this story...

Sometime between yesterday and today, Mister Scott had apparently set up a ‘sandwich service’ that catered to the entire engineering deck. Every two hours or so, a small team of dedicated officers from other departments who wanted to help but had the collective engineering talent of now-extinct humpback whales would make a circuit of Engineering to offer refreshments. They had a cart made out of ruined machine parts that was stacked high with premade sandwiches and isotonic drinks—approved by McCoy, of course—and equipped with an odd sort of light that wailed like a klaxon. Nyota was certain that it was actually a police siren from two centuries ago.

By the time Nyota felt her eyes drooping, it was well past beta shift again.

“Lieutenant Uhura.”

Nyota sat up so quickly she felt her muscles protest in ways that promised a sore back tomorrow. “Spock?”

“You should return to your quarters,” Spock said, hands clasped behind his back, causing the thin material of his uniform to pull against his shoulders. It reminded her of the first time she met Jim, when he’d flirted with her with words and not-so-subtle posturing. Huh. Maybe it hadn’t been posturing after all. Maybe Spock just rubbed off on him.

“I could say the same to you.”

“As it would be counterproductive to meditate without Jim’s stabilising influence, I have come to retrieve him,” Spock explained. Nyota wondered if growing up together had made them co-dependent. “I do not understand the human proclivity to work oneself to exhaustion. Is this a common trait?”

“Personally I just think that everybody wants to stop being stranded,” Nyota offered, resisting the temptation to scrub her hands across her face to ease her tiredness when her fingers were still covered in oil. “But I think you’re right. I should be heading off to bed.”

It was hard to tell the time when the ship was constantly illuminated by the same degree of brightness around the clock. It was especially hard to remember that night was even a thing that happened when nobody really abided by the ship’s time anymore and basically threw themselves into whatever work was available so long as they felt like they weren’t about to fall face first into something radioactive.

“You’re not working extra shifts, are you?” Nyota asked, concerned. He’d only just lost his planet, after all.

“I have been advised against it by the doctor,” Spock responded, which was not an adequate answer at all.

Without missing a beat, Nytoa interpreted, “So you _are_ working extra shifts.”

“It is illogical to remain unproductive when my abilities and expertise are required.”

“I’m sure Jim agrees with you on that, which is why he’s working himself into a stupor coordinating repairs,” Nyota said, stripping off her gloves and jumpsuit.

Spock’s jaw tightened fractionally. “His human physiology cannot operate under the same amount of stress as a Vulcan’s without resorting to extreme coping measures. He should be resting.”

“Look, it’s only been two days since we lost our cores. He’s not going to drop from exhaustion just yet. Humans are hardier than you give us credit for,” Nyota argued, running interference for Jim because she understood why he was doing this. It kept her mind off things such as the knowledge that so many of her friends had met their premature ends in the space where Vulcan used to be. They made their way slowly to the jumpsuit cabinet in deference to her fatigue.

“Nevertheless, the disregard he has for his welfare is alarming,” Spock said as she hung the jumpsuit up and tossed the gloves into a drawer.

“You grew up with him. You know better than me that that’s just how he is,” Nyota shrugged. They looked around the area for Jim, who was proving to be shockingly hard to find, camouflaged as he was in Engineering red and surrounded by more redshirts in one place than Nyota had ever seen. It reminded Nyota of her childhood, when she spent many frustrating hours scouring the pages of a large, 20th century picture book looking for a man in a red and white striped jumper.

“Regardless, it does not negate my concern,” Spock said, and Nyota’s eyes flicked up quickly to him at that. It was rare for the Vulcan to admit to being anything less than completely neutral, even after all the years that she’d known him.

Suddenly, Spock set off at a brisk pace, alerting Nyota that he’d finally spotted Jim. She followed behind him quickly.

They were still a distance away from him when Jim spun around on his heels as if he’d known that they were coming. “Spock, Uhura.”

“Jim,” Spock said curtly.

Jim waved off the ensign that he’d been talking to with some engineering babble. When he turned back to them, it looked like he was only awake and standing through sheer determination, prayer, and the half-digested remains of a ‘sandwich service’ sandwich. Of course, it probably also helped that he was Acting Captain and couldn’t afford to fall face first into something radioactive.

“We’ve come to make sure that you get enough sleep so that you don’t completely deplete your coffee ration by tomorrow,” Nyota said.

“Bones has already removed all caffeinated items from my meal card. I’m stuck with decaf,” Jim grimaced. “Spock won’t let me have his share.”

“I can see why,” Nyota said unhelpfully. “Well done, Spock.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Jim glared accusingly. The effect was rather ruined by his exhaustion.

“If a choice is to be made between your health and your pride, my decision is clear.”

Jim yawned. “Didn’t we just have this argument yesterday? I’ll let you win this one, but I’m telling Amanda about how you bullied me tomorrow.”

“I am certain that Mother will agree with me on this matter,” Spock said.

“Humans ought to stick together,” Jim muttered. Then, he yelled, “Keenser!”

The little being that had been accosted together with Mister Scott and Selek two days ago ambled toward them from somewhere among the mess in Engineering. He gave Jim a look that Nyota liked to think bordered on insubordinate.

“Tell Scotty that I’m knocking off. Have him assign my duties to someone else. Thanks.”

Keenser just stared at Jim, and then abruptly stalked off in a different direction.

“That should do it,” Jim declared, sounding satisfied. Nyota blinked and wondered if Jim’s estimation of the crew’s deference to him was too high. They started heading back to their quarters. “I hope you’re happy, Spock.”

“Vulcans are never happy, Jim.”

“Pull the other one. It has bells, sirens, _and_ klaxons,” Jim murmured. To her, he said, “Take it easy tomorrow—try not to take too many double shifts in a row. You look like you need some downtime to yourself. Your department’s been one of the most zealous about overtime so they’ve got you covered.”

“I’d be insulted that you’re trying to micromanage my time if I didn’t know that you’re just being a mother hen,” Nyota said, cocking an eyebrow.

“What can I say? I’m just looking out for my crew,” Jim grinned tiredly.

“For now,” Nyota added quietly, her own likely temporary field promotion weighing heavily on her.

Jim gave her a helpless smile, then sagged against Spock, looking resigned. Nyota felt a sting of guilt when she noticed how hard Jim was taking the prospect. “Yeah, for now.”

The odds that Jim would be allowed to keep his captaincy after returning to Earth were decidedly not in his favour. No matter how much they wanted to avoid confronting the fact, it niggled at the back of everyone’s mind. If Starfleet had its way, there would be a much more experienced Captain at the helm with a senior crew that wasn’t half made up of undergraduates.

Because of this alone, Nyota almost wished that they could continue drifting around in space, untethered, forever.

\---

Nyota didn’t always see Jim when she went to Engineering. She heard from Sulu that he was paying each department a visit to speak with the crew and assess the state of affairs. It was after he’d visited Medical and spoken with the Vulcan refugees that their pressing manpower issues were finally resolved. The ship, while severely understaffed owing to Nero’s attack, had a steady supply of willing Vulcans to offer their expertise once the situation was made known to them. On the fourth day of their wandering nomadic lifestyle, Vulcan presence in Engineering jumped from non-existent to one for every ten members of the crew.

On the other hand, now that the Vulcans were occupied with something else other than pretending not to be emotional wrecks, sickbay was open to visitations once again.

Once it became clear that none of the Vulcan volunteers was about to keel over from telepathic shock and were in fact working a few times more efficiently than the tired crew, Jim ordered all crewmembers to be taken off double duty unless absolutely necessary. Of course, that did not stop anybody from helping out during off-duty hours. Those who had been displaced by the Vulcans extended the ‘sandwich service’ until there was a cart available every fifteen minutes with a menu that was no longer limited to sandwiches (much to Scott’s dismay). Someone—Nyota suspected Jim—had advised them about Vulcan preferences, so each cart also carried a small selection of Vulcan dishes.

It took some initial effort on the crew’s part to consciously respect Vulcan notions of personal space, but by the end of the week it was little more than habit to give each Vulcan a wide berth.

When Nyota was relieved of her double shifts—she couldn’t be of much assistance anyway after the most basic repairs were made—she took the time to familiarise herself with the ship. It was a thing of beauty with sleek white walls and sharp blue lights, gently curving hallways and a crew to match its brilliance. She knew where the main attractions were—bridge, sickbay, Engineering (she knew that one far too well), recreation deck, observation lounge, shuttle bay, hydroponics bay, mess hall, senior officers’ quarters—but it was the discovery of little ship secrets like the quiet rooms designated for meditation at the end of each hallway that made this exploration so fulfilling.

She spent an hour or two each day sequestering herself in the quiet rooms either browsing through reports on her PADD or practising meditation techniques she’d looked up earlier that week in the ship’s database. The calm that resulted from some time alone to herself relaxed the knots in her back, leaving her loose-limbed and sated. She was beginning to see the appeal that meditation held to Vulcans.

It was during one of these sessions that she finally worked up the courage to scan for T’Pring’s name in the list of survivors aboard the _Enterprise_. Of course, most of the remaining Vulcans were stationed on other planets—in which case they wouldn’t have news from them any time soon because almost everything on this ship was still functioning less than optimally—but it was much more probable that T’Pring had been on Vulcan during the disaster. She loaded the list quickly and input her search.

If T’Pring had been on Vulcan, she had not survived.

Nyota had a fighting chance.

She would have to ascertain that T’Pring hadn’t been on any other planet at the time of Vulcan’s destruction, of course, but the balance of probabilities lay in her favour. It was terrible of her to be so nonchalant about (and even just the slightest bit pleased by) the loss of Spock’s bondmate, and she did her best to suppress that part of her because T’Pring’s death meant Spock’s pain. However, she had not known T’Pring, and beyond the mild horror that she felt for the loss of any sentient life and Spock’s resultant emotional turmoil, she was not compelled to feel sympathetic for her plight.

 _Kaiidth_.

What is, is, she thought to herself, rationalising her detachment. All that she could do was seize the opportunity that was given to her and make the best of it that she could.

His bondmate was lost. Nyota didn’t believe in fate or destiny, but this opening was as close as she would allow herself to contemplate about what she’d lost before anything even began when Spock pre-empted any further advances on her part after the incident with the Vulcan spice tea. Let it not be said that Nyota did not go down fighting for what she wanted.

She did not become Chief Communications Officer by batting her eyes at the admiralty or through judicious flaunting of perfect thighs under miniskirts (that was not to say that her thighs were not perfect, but that no one needed to know just how perfect they were unless she explicitly allowed it). She was where she was by effort and determination and smarts. To think that she would treat romantic relationships with any less perseverance than she did everything else would be to severely underestimate her strength of will.

As of this moment, Nyota Uhura was a woman on a mission to win herself a Vulcan heart.

\---

Nyota, like everybody else on this godforsaken ship, was not surprised when Jim finally collapsed in the middle of the mess after a whole week of hypocritically assigning himself double shifts. She became aware of this when Spock commed the bridge during her duty hours to inform Sulu that Jim had ‘taken ill’ and was now ‘indisposed’, and therefore he was assuming command until Jim was cleared for duty.

She took that to mean that Jim would be spending the next two to three days—possibly even a week— strapped to a biobed in sickbay by order of both the XO and CMO. She personally felt that Jim’s confinement to sickbay was long overdue. From the way Spock practically hovered over Jim the last few days, it was evident that the Vulcan was about ready to nerve pinch the guy and bodily haul him to sickbay himself.

If Spock had asked Nyota would’ve been more than willing to offer her assistance in rendering Jim unconscious.

But Spock hadn’t asked, so Jim was allowed to drag his body around until it became fed up with its treatment at Jim’s hands and decided to mutiny. Which led to the events of today.

She decided to grab a sandwich to go from the mess before making her way down to sickbay. By the time she arrived, she’d wiped her mouth with a napkin and crumpled the sandwich wrap so that it could be easily disposed of in the trash. McCoy was busy flitting between the beds that were occupied by individuals with more pressing injuries, so she asked a passing nurse to direct her to Jim’s bed.

It was in the corner of the room, tucked away with the beds of the few Vulcans that were left in sickbay.

Seeing Jim’s face now, muscles lax under the tired, sagging skin around his eyes, Nyota thought that he looked much older than he usually did, when his smiles hid the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes that persisted even in sleep. More weary, more worn. It felt like he’d seen and lost too much; gained too little in return. She’d never seen him this vulnerable before. Then again, perhaps that was due to Jim’s magnificent orchestration of their interactions that allowed him to carefully avoid showing her any weakness. After all, she hadn’t been the nicest or most understanding to him in their first few months of acquaintance.

She wondered how much of the years he seemed to add on when asleep was the result of her, of hiding the parts he felt he couldn’t let her know about lest she was careless with his heart. Why else would he have told Gaila about his adoption but not her? His rank, his residence, his name, his entire history… There was so much to Jim that Nyota had no idea about. He said that he thought Gaila would’ve told her—and to a certain extent Nyota was surprised that her usually chatty friend did not—but it still took a special sort of reclusiveness to leave out so many details of his life even after three years of knowing each other, didn’t it?

It took her a moment to realise that she didn’t know because she’d never thought to ask. There was a tiny part of her that believed that their friendship was temporary, a weak link based on Jim’s infatuation that would be dissolved once they became full-fledged officers aboard a starship, sailing their way across the galaxy. Jim had reached out to her, offered his company and his friendship, offered to share the little, less important bits of himself that he thought she might care to know (although, granted, he seemed to like talking about Spock more than himself).

And what did she give him in return?

Their relationship was built around heatless banter. Their understanding of each other extended not much further beyond comfortable camaraderie—she knew nothing of his history, and he knew nothing of hers.

This was unlike her. She made friends with great openness, thriving on the give-and-take that was the currency of friendship. While she may be selective about the individuals that she allowed into her circle of trust, once they were in, it was easy to forget that there was ever a time she did not know them. Yet Jim, who was as surely in her little band as Gaila was, remained held at arm’s length.

She smoothed his hair away from his face. It looked longer than it did when he had it styled.

Half of her still thought of him as the confident blond cadet who’d made a pass at her almost four years ago. This part, an illogical, fearful part, whispered that it was all a ploy, a devious plot to get into her pants when she let her guard down. How many times had her friendships turned sour because of a boy that had expected more than she was willing to give? She’d burned so many bridges that way that she’d closed herself off to guys like Jim—proud, charismatic, and charming to a fault.

She liked her men tall, dark, and handsome, but that didn’t mean tall, bright, and handsome couldn’t be her friends. And, god, she was so weak against those types when they came to her asking for friendship.

But the rational part that listened to reason, that had been cultivated by too many hours debating subject-verb-noun orders with Spock, understood that Jim was completely disinterested in her in that manner and wouldn’t leave her a wreck when she eventually spurned his non-existent affections. It told her that this friendship was worth investing in, that Jim, who’d grown up on Vulcan and kick-started her friendship with Spock, who’d tried to show her that he was more than pretty blue eyes and a handsome face, was here for the long haul.

Of course, there were more ways that Jim could break her fragile friendship-heart, such as plummeting to his doom in a manner reminiscent of her favourite uncle’s death. But would she be satisfied with this easy banter for the rest of their acquaintanceship? Sure, she had Gaila to talk to about guys (although she was no help unless it came to sex), and Hendorff to protect her when she went clubbing, but she had a feeling that Jim would be the one she could paint her nails with and talk to about _feelings_ while sobbing into tissues and watching late-night reruns of _My Fair Lady_.

Now that she’d had a taste of how reckless Jim could be for the sake of the greater good, would she be fine if Jim suddenly died while heroically embarking on one of his stupidly noble acts of bravery without having given him the chance to know her?

The answer had been staring at her in the face ever since he’d fallen off the drill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 23/07/2015: I'm going to start trying to respond to most, if not all, comments from now on because you're all so encouraging and it's the least I can do to thank you for taking the time to give me feedback (or just tell me that you liked the chapter). :) All of you are just wonderful.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations are had over Jim's unconscious body about things that Jim may prefer to be had over his dead one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Surprise? I bet nobody was expecting this chapter after 2 years of nothing. And don't hold your breath for the next one. It might take another couple of years again. Anyway, huge thanks to [floatingmanybellsdown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingmanybellsdown/pseuds/floatingmanybellsdown) for volunteering to beta-read this chapter and being probably 90% of the reason why this fic has been updated. I needed that push. :) (Needless to say, any mistakes are my own.)

“Uhura?”

Nyota blinked the haze away from her eyes. When she looked up, they focused on the face of Jim’s doctor friend. “McCoy. How’s Jim?”

McCoy scowled, but it was soft and fond and she knew it so well because it was exactly the same sort of abrasive front that Nyota used when trading profanities in alien languages with Jim. “He’ll live. The green-blooded hobgoblin and I have been waiting for this to happen with bated breath. It’s like watching a meteor crash and burn into Earth’s gravity.”

Nyota tried not to think about her uncle or Jim’s freefall. “He’s an irresistible sort of guy, isn’t he?”

“Damn right,” McCoy groused. “Couldn’t leave him alone once I learnt how long his list of allergies was, and it’s only gotten longer since then. Mark my words, one day he’s going to eat some exotic alien delicacy on a diplomatic mission and he’ll regret ever ignoring my advice to scan every damn thing he puts in his mouth when he starts having a reaction that inadvertently insults somebody important, leading to an all-out war against the Federation that Spock has to logic them out of, only to kill Jim slowly and painfully in their quarters once he’s sure that nobody’ll challenge him for the right to slit Jim’s throat. And then I’ll revive Jim and kill him myself. And I’ll revive him again if you want a go. And I’ll have to revive him yet again because Spock will kill me if I let him stay dead.”

“You have a vivid imagination,” Nyota noted, amused. “And an uncanny ability to form incredibly long sentences. I can see why Jim keeps you around.”

McCoy snorted. “You couldn’t pay him enough to voluntarily pay me a visit in sickbay. I have to hunt him down for his vaccinations and check-ups _every goddamn year_. Thank god for Spock.”

“He has a way with Jim that nobody else does,” Nyota agreed.

“I blame it on Vulcan voodoo,” McCoy muttered. He glanced at the readings above Jim’s biobed. “I can’t believe Spock let him do this to himself.”

“Spock’s not in a good place at the moment either,” Nyota whispered quietly.

“What the fuck could be more important to him than Jim?” McCoy exclaimed sounding incredibly pissed off. “My god, woman, Jim’s practically his anchor! He’s literally the only thing standing between Spock and losing his goddamn Vulcan mind!”

Nyota’s eyes flickered to Jim’s prone form. This last week had been exhausting for everyone. It wasn’t so unusual that Spock found comfort primarily in his family, but would it be too demanding to ask that he rely on her too? “Come on, don’t be so hard on him. He’s just lost his entire planet.”

“That’s the whole point! His connection or link or bond or whatever to the rest of his species was almost completely severed. His telepathic centres are screaming and Jim’s the reason why he hasn’t gone crazy from it yet, being a familiar constant or something,” McCoy grumbled, adjusting the controls of Jim’s bed.

“I don’t mean that he’s not wrong ignoring Jim—and he really wasn’t ignoring him, by the way, because the last time I saw him his fingers were practically itching to nerve pinch Jim. I’m just saying that his parents _almost died_. That’s got to be enough to keep him distracted for a long time.”

McCoy stared at her from the opposite side of Jim’s bed as if she was being particularly obtuse. “Jim almost died too,” he said flatly. “Three times at least, which, unless I’m losing my memory or my ability to do simple mental sums, is more times than both of Spock’s parents put together.”

“But they’re his _parents_.”

“And Jim’s a reckless idiot. What’s your point?” McCoy said, raising an arched eyebrow at her. Nyota felt like she was missing out on something again. It was becoming a frustratingly common occurrence.

She cut her gaze down to Jim’s slack face. “I don’t even know if I have a point,” she admitted. “After universe-altering Romulans and what they did, everything else just seems so inconsequential now. Is Captain Pike all right?”

“He’s stable, but I wouldn’t put much stock in him retaining his captaincy. Those legs of his are going to need intense physiotherapy before they’ll be operating at anywhere near the efficiency of a toddler’s,” McCoy informed her soberly. “He won’t have much choice but to accept a planetside commission, at this rate. He’ll be so pissed—the man hates being stuck to a desk almost as much as Jim.”

“I don’t think Jim wanted to become the Captain like this, though,” Nyota reflected. “Pike was his advisor, wasn’t he? It must be hard on him too.”

“Yeah, well, better Pike than Spock,” McCoy said, sounding slightly guilty that he had to choose. “Jim would’ve killed himself trying to remain professional, and you bet your ass there’d be holes in the bridge from his pacing.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“So am I.”

“How much longer will he be out?”

“I’ve given him the strong stuff. I’m not going to let him come out of it until Spock tells me that he’s fine.” McCoy tapped his head. “Vulcan mind voodoo, you know.”

Nyota raised her eyebrows. “He’s going to meld with him? Isn’t that a bit extreme? He’s just tired.”

“Nah. They’ve got this weird bond thing—tells Spock when Jim’s finally willing to accept that he’s human and not Vulcan and that it’s safe to wake him without risking him running his stupid self into the ground again, among other things.” McCoy scowled, “It’s damn useful, is what it is, especially when one of them would rather break an arm and a leg than stay just one goddamn hour longer for observation.”

Vulcan bonds. It made sense, she supposed. Familial links were thought to be very important to a Vulcan, and the stronger they were, the more mentally stable and grounded a Vulcan was. Nobody could’ve expected last week’s disaster, of course, but in the wake of it she postulated that whatever bonds that still existed would be desperately strengthened even as broken links were cauterised. It was only logical for Spock to pay close attention to Jim’s health as he too was family. If she had a brother like Jim she’d want to keep an eye on him too—there was probably no other way of knowing when he’d next do something as impulsive as fighting future Romulans barehanded.

She still hadn’t confronted him about that.

“To be fair, few people would willingly let you confine them to sickbay.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “The one time Jim’s not a special snowflake and it has to be this.”

“You know, I just had a thought. If it was Spock and not Pike that went aboard the Narada, I’m pretty sure that Jim would actually voluntarily park his pasty ass in sickbay to keep vigil,” Nyota offered.

“I’d rather not have to look at his pathetic heartbroken face when I work, thank you very much. And Spock’s no better than Jim—he’s always trying to logic his way out of my tender loving care.”

“It’s too bad you’re too illogical to be convinced by his logic, huh?” Nyota teased. “I’ll bet Jim’s baby blues hold more sway over you.”

“I’m not even going to deny that. You have no goddamn idea how many times Spock’s had to glare me into ignoring them,” McCoy said, shaking his head. He adjusted something else from his PADD. “He should leverage on them when he goes on diplomatic missions.”

“Who? Jim or Spock?” Nyota asked, amused.

“Both of them. If we can’t win them over with Jim then we’ll just have to terrorise them into submission with Spock.”

Nyota considered it. “That’s not a bad idea. You ought to pitch it to them once Jim’s more functional.”

McCoy snorted. “He’d take it as an insult to his diplomatic techniques. He prides himself in being an A-grade negotiator because there’s nobody better to be influenced by than a Vulcan ambassador to Earth. Sarek’s poker face is flawless, but Jim assures me that he’s always constantly frustrated by us illogical humans.”

“Charming,” Nyota declared. “When do you estimate Spock will let you release Jim?”

“Not anytime soon. He’s gonna be here for a good two days, at least, and I’ll still have him mildly sedated when we wake him so he’s not going anywhere, Captain or not,” McCoy said, affectionately patting the side of Jim’s face. “Spock and I are in agreement, for once.”

Nyota laughed. “You’ll be hard pressed to hear Spock admit that.”

“Don’t tell him I said that,” McCoy glared. “I’ll never live it down.”

“I think you should worry about Jim. Spock’s not the type.”

“My god, have you met the man? He’s insufferable.”

“Well, maybe I don’t antagonise him enough to know that,” Nyota shrugged. She’d been on his good side since the beginning, the only exception being the unfortunate Vulcan spice tea incident, but he hadn’t held that over her head. “It’s not a bad thing. You’ll keep me updated on Jim, won’t you?”

“I’ve got a mailing list of ensigns and lieutenants Jim taught practically falling off the edges of their seats eagerly awaiting any news about him,” McCoy deadpanned. “I think I can add you to it.”

Nyota blinked. “On second thoughts, I’ll just drop by tomorrow.”

“Wise woman,” McCoy said approvingly. “Do you want me to give you a quick once over? Make sure nothing’s healed wrong?”

“Sure,” Nyota said. “Why not.”

He led her away from Jim, whose mouth was now wide open and looking incredibly unflattering. She wished that she’d thought to take a picture for posterity before McCoy redirected her to one of the examination rooms.

\---

Nyota buzzed for entrance to Jim and Spock’s shared quarters later that day but there was no response. She gave the door a hard stare, as if that would conjure Spock into existence behind it, and then returned to her quarters when it proved predictably ineffective.

\---

Nyota made a not-so-wild guess and brought breakfast to sickbay before shift the next day. Spock was seated beside Jim’s biobed on a highly uncomfortable-looking plastic chair—these things hadn’t changed, despite advances in every other branch of healthcare. She pulled up an identical one next to Spock, laying the tray on her lap. Spock gave her a brief nod, but otherwise continued to stare stoically at Jim’s drooling face.

“I brought your favourite,” she said, offering him a cup of Vulcan spice tea. She figured that he wouldn’t think that she was being too forward this time, considering that he looked like he needed the beverage very badly or else his face may actually betray his stress.

“Thank you, Nyota,” Spock said quietly, and took the cup in both hands, fingers carefully avoiding hers.

“He’s not going anywhere. You didn’t have to sit here all night.”

“Nevertheless, I find myself unsettled by his absence from our quarters.”

God, Jim and Spock were the most co-dependent pair of siblings Nyota had ever come across. She’d thought that it was a just a Jim thing, but, with Spock making this sort of confession, it clearly went both ways. Well, there were worse relationships to compete with. At least she wasn’t coming between Spock and T’Pring anymore.

“Did you manage to meditate, at least?”

“Affirmative,” Spock told her. He sounded noticeably tired, which clued Nyota in that he obviously hadn’t quite meditated enough.

“You’re still commanding day shift later, aren’t you?”

“I would be remiss in my duties if I did not.”

“I’m pretty sure nobody will blame you if you take a day off and use this time to strengthen your bonds.”

“My bonds are strong. I am merely…concerned.”

Nyota startled at his ready display of emotional sentiment. “About Jim? McCoy told me that he’ll be fine. He’s just exhausted—it’s nothing a few days of sleep won’t cure.”

“I understand this rationally. However, not everything can be rationalised.”

“I suppose that’s Jim’s influence. It’s not something you hear a Vulcan say every day.”

“Indeed. Jim is most compelling.” Spock sipped from the cup. “While his arguments are not always sound, he has a remarkable proclivity toward arriving at accurate conclusions.”

“Does it frustrate you?” Nyota asked.

“On occasion,” Spock answered succinctly. “However, I have learnt that his instincts are often more reliable than most people’s facts.”

“He’s just not very good at listening to what his instincts tell him about his limits, is he,” Nyota said wryly.

Spock took another sip of tea. “He rarely rests unless he is exhausted.”

“What about you? You don’t look too good either.” He looked drawn, but in a way that Nyota couldn’t put her finger on. There was nothing particularly lethargic about his expression or bearing, but he still projected the air of someone who badly needed a bed and a two-day leave.

“I am as well as can be expected,” Spock admitted reluctantly.

Nyota’s eyes dropped to the tray. Of course. His bondmate had died, his planet had imploded, and his species had been decimated. “I’m sorry about T’Pring.”

Spock did not speak for a moment, and it was only the steady beeping of Jim’s heart monitor—and the heavy pulse of blood through her veins—that gave her a sense of passing time. When he finally opened his mouth, his words were little more than a whisper, “You have spoken with my mother.”

“Yes.”

“Her passing, while regrettable, is not especially intolerable. _Kaiidth_.”

“I grieve with thee,” Nyota offered anyway, still staring at the tray. He did not sound distraught, which led her to think that the existing bonds he had were sufficient to soothe the pain of a broken mating bond.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t thanks illogical?” Nyota couldn’t help but tease, trying to draw the conversation away from T’Pring, whose existence still loomed over Nyota despite how, well, dead she was.

“If you find my affectation of human social niceties uncomfortable, you need only say so,” Spock countered swiftly.

“I rather like that you make the effort,” Nyota shrugged. “It must be hard for you, though, to be around so many humans. Jim and your mother are one thing, but being constantly surrounded by the press of our psi-null minds and needing to continually adapt to our culture must be exhausting.”

“I have learnt to cope. It was difficult before Jim came but not an insurmountable hardship,” Spock said, eyes flicking to Jim for a brief second. “Captain Pike helped to facilitate the majority of the compromises Starfleet Academy made in deference to my heritage. Despite Jim’s constant attempts to expose me to his culture, humanity is far more diverse than even Jim, for all his ability to encompass a host of contradictory traits and behaviours, can accommodate.”

“Was it exciting, being the first Vulcan cadet?”

“I would not phrase it as such. My status as the first and only Vulcan cadet did cause some complications with my instructors. I had already completed more rigorous undergraduate studies at the Vulcan Science Academy, and as such found certain courses somewhat lacking. I believe that a number of my instructors took offence when I supplemented my course load with classes from other faculties.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see their faces,” Nyota grinned. “I’m surprised they didn’t offer you a commission immediately after graduation, though.”

“I expressed a firm preference to be stationed planetside while Jim completed his studies at the Academy, and thus was commissioned as an instructor.”

“Were you waiting for the _Enterprise_ to be finished? Captain Pike offered you the position of First Officer, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Spock confirmed. “However, it was Jim who insisted on this ship and pressed me to accept Captain Pike’s offer.”

“How does _Jim_ fit into all this?” Nyota asked, puzzled.

“I trust that what I tell you will not be repeated to anyone else.”

“You have my word,” Nyota agreed, curiosity growing.

“He became enamoured with this ship when he hacked into Starfleet’s network and pulled the design schematics of all starships from the database in order to prove to his classmates at the VSA that he was as good as, if not better than, all of them,” Spock said dryly. “I was already at the Academy at the time, and thus was in a position to offer myself as a scapegoat against my better judgement by claiming that I had been tasked with the discovery of any weakness in the system by Captain Pike. The Captain was generous enough to cooperate on the condition that I become his First Officer when he gained captaincy of the _Enterprise_. In the meantime, the Captain assigned me to fix the weaknesses that Jim had uncovered.”

Nyota, who could feel her eyebrows inching slowly but surely toward her hairline as Spock relayed the events that led to his commission aboard the USS _Enterprise_ , had some difficulty believing that Spock of all people had been anything less than a complete stickler for rules. “That’s going to take me some time to process.”

“As it understandably should,” Spock said, a brief look of contrition passing across his features. “Jim’s influence on me has not always been positive.”

“I’ll say,” Nyota laughed. “It adds a little something to your personality, so I think that might be a good thing if you temper it with your good judgement.”

“A little ‘something?’”

“A Standard turn of phrase for when we don’t exactly know what we mean other than that we don’t mean nothing. Or, alternatively, some inconsequential offering, like a downplayed gift, or an actually cheap one.”

“Ah. I believe Jim has used this phrase in the latter context on multiple occasions when he spent his monthly allowance on items that he had imagined my mother and I would appreciate.”

“But you didn’t appreciate them?” Nyota eyed the spice tea that she’d given him. It definitely wasn’t anywhere near the worth of something that cost Jim’s monthly allowance. A couple of years ago, Nyota would have blamed Jim’s eagerness to spend money on an inability to ration his resources, but right now she thought it was far more likely that Jim had too much love to share and too little care for cost if he thought something would make somebody he loved happy.

“The best gifts that I have received have never been anything acquired, but freely given. At the present moment, I would greatly appreciate it if Jim would exercise moderation when working. However, I do not expect to receive this particular gift within any reasonable measure of time.”

“If you tell that to Jim I’m sure he’ll actually start working normal hours just to be contrary.”

Spock nodded thoughtfully. “Your proposal has the potential to be a better strategy than the forceful incapacitation that I have been considering. I will take it under advisement.”

Nyota laughed. “Please do. I’d like to see the outrage on his face when he realises that you’ve tricked him into resting.”

“Regretfully, it will have to wait as Jim will not be capable of more than sleep for the next two days,” Spock said flatly. “Perhaps more, if I deem his inclination to be contrary insufficiently strong as to be unable to overcome his innate need to work himself to exhaustion.”

As she laughed again, Nyota couldn’t help but silently congratulate Jim on grooming Spock into the first Vulcan with a sense of humour, even if it was dryer than Vulcan-that-was. Regardless of the questionable nature of Spock’s sense of humour, and despite Jim’s less than stellar health, she was glad that Spock had found something else other than the destruction of his planet to fixate on. There were far worse things to occupy one’s mind with than Jim’s chronic tendency to overwork himself.


End file.
